Brandon Stark: The Wolf of the North
by bigfan22
Summary: Born with memories of a life from another world, Brandon Stark is the chosen Champion of the Gods, whose light shall guide the realm through the Long Night. Watch as the Wild Wolf of the North bends all of Westeros to his will and changes the Game of Thrones forever.
1. The North Reimagined

**A/N:** **I know this is yet another story that I have started, but I've been on a Game of Thrones binge lately and this idea just wouldn't get out of my head. I'm hoping by writing this my creative juices will start flowing again for when I return to my HP fics. For those of you who are expecting a canon re-hash...I suggest you leave right now. While certain events will still be hit, they will ALL have different twists to them. This story has a slight(very very very slight) crossover with BtVS and Wheel of Time series. In both cases it's mostly lip service, which is why I don't have this in the crossover section. Hopefully you all enjoy my version of this incredible universe. I write it cause I just can't take all the death Martin forced me to endure in the books. I'm all for drama and tragedy, but only if the good guys end up winning in the end. If that is something you are also into, than I hope you will enjoy!**

 **At the bottom of every chapter you will see my casting for this story. Some of you might call it a wank-fest and frankly you would be right. I just don't care. In my version of Planetos all the important people are better looking, taller(several people have had their heights altered to fit the books) and buffer. If that upsets you...than you're free to imagine whoever you want for each role or not read this story at all. Also...I have changed the ages of certain people and the dates of certain events, so I don't have to deal with twelve and thirteen year olds killing each other and/or having sex.**

 **Finally... a few people have complained about the casting and timeline I put up with the story, so I have taken them down. Instead I added both to my profile. For those of you who are interested in what I came up with, you can check there. Unfortunately, due to the changes I made, the story is down to one chapter right now. So those who saw three chapters earlier, now you know why. Thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoy the story.**

 **MA:** Violence, Profanity, and Sex

 **Chapter 1: The North Re-imagined**

 **259: Winterfell:**

As he made his way towards his father's Solar, Brandon Stark thought about how strange his young life had been so far. Barely six moons away from his fifth Name-day, Brandon was born self-aware.

At the time he still thought of himself as Xander Harris, but thankfully with each passing day that feeling changed. And if he were being honest with himself, Brandon liked the change. For as much as he respected all that Xander had accomplished in his life, Brandon wanted to be his own man.

While he would always be grateful for the other man's memories and abilities, Brandon wanted to forge his own path in the world. He didn't want to be beholden to his other selves failures or successes, but at times that was easier said than done.

When Xander died and was asked to be reborn in a new world to protect the people from the return of the Others, Cordelia Chase, his former girlfriend turned higher being, gave him a Kingly gift when he agreed.

Since Magic always worked oddly around the former Demon hunter, his previous possessions of the Primal Hyena and the Soldier from Halloween were never truly expunged from his body.

Cordelia allowed him to not only retain the full knowledge and skills of Alexander "Alex" Harris the Soldier, but she also removed the Primal Hyena spirit that Xander hated so much and replaced it with a Primal spirit that he was actually connected to. Oddly enough given the House he was reborn into, the spirit was that of a Direwolf and the benefits that Brandon now reaped from the union were three fold.

The first benefit was that his bones and musculature were easily twice as dense as that of a normal person. This in turn made him stronger and faster than he would have been on his own, but Brandon was well aware that his abilities would never extend into the realm of the Supernatural like the Slayers. At best he could hope to reach the pinnacle of what the human body was capable of, but only after years and years of hard work.

The second benefit came in the form of two enhanced senses. On the surface having the smell and hearing equivalent to that of a Wolf might seem like a wonderful gift, but in reality it was not so. Brandon was constantly having to train himself not to react to the numerous putrid smells that permeated throughout Winterfell, or even even grimace at the sound of random loud noises that occurred all around him.

This past year he tried different ways to blunt the two irritating senses, but so far he had little luck in doing so. He truly hoped that at some point in the future, he would either find a way to adapt to his enhanced senses or at the very least find a way to buffer against them when they weren't needed.

The third and final benefit that Brandon received from the Primal Direwolf, was a limited connection to the spirit itself. From his memories of Xander's conversation with Cordelia, Brandon knew in times of need he would be able to tap into the strength and speed of the Primal, but it came at a great cost.

The longer he used the Direwolf's power, the greater the strain would be put on his heart. If Brandon used the boost for too long, his heart would burst and he would die. Unlike with Slayers, Brandon's body wasn't built to handle that type of power on a regular basis, so he knew he would have to be careful as to when and how long he could use such a gift.

Along with these enhancements, Brandon's mind also contained two sets of memories. The first was that of a twenty-nine-year-old Demon hunter named Xander Harris and the second of a twenty-three-year-old Navy Seal named Alex Harris.

While both men were, in fact, alternate versions of himself, they were also very different from one another. Xander was a chronic underachiever who didn't reach his full potential until much later in his life. Meanwhile, Alex was the complete opposite. Gifted with a stellar intelligence he graduated at the top of his class from Annapolis and was considered to be one of the best recruits on his SEAL team.

At only four Name-days old, there were times Brandon felt himself being overwhelmed by the memories and experiences of the older men. But with each day that passed, he built his own memories, made his own mistakes and had his own successes. Through a daily reminder, the young boy promised himself that one day soon he would become his own man and no longer be overshadowed by the ghosts of his alternate selves.

When he finally arrived at the Lord's Solar, Brandon knocked twice and heard his father call out, "Come in."

Opening the door, the heir of Winterfell walked into the Solar and immediately saw his father, mother and Maester Walys sitting at the large table in the center of the room.

In the Lord's seat sat Rickard Stark. At nine and twenty, the 6'4" Head of House Stark had the classic black hair, grey eyes and strong chin that had become synonymous with the Stark name. Even while sitting, his broad shoulders, barrel chest and trim waist portrayed an intimidating aura that was evident to any who looked at him.

To his left sat Anna Stark. At four and twenty, the Lady of House Stark was formerly a Karstark of Karhold, a cadet branch of the Stark family. The 5'9" beauty had long silky black hair that rested just below her breasts at the back, and beautiful blue eyes that could glimmer with mischief one minute and blaze in anger the next. She was considered by many to be the most beautiful woman in the North, as well as one of the most desirable women in all of Westeros.

The last person in the room was Maester Walys. At 5'4" the thin, frail-looking man had hunched shoulders and was easily as wise as he was ancient. Walys first came to Winterfell when Brandon's grandfather took up his Lordship, and over the years he had grown to love the North just as much as any man born in the lands of Winter.

The past two years Brandon spent countless hours learning from the Maester. Be it reading, writing, numbers, history or languages, Walys always marveled at the young boy's ability to assimilate new information and quickly proclaimed Brandon as a once in a lifetime prodigy.

The first time the Maester had done so, Brandon felt a brief moment of guilt at his unfair advantage, but he quickly squashed those feelings down. He was given these gifts by a higher power for a reason and if that meant the world saw him as the next Bran the Builder, then he would gladly accept the accolades. In the future, Brandon would have to prepare the North and the rest of Westeros for the return of the Others, and it would only help him if he was thought of as a genius.

"Mother, Father, Maester Walys," Brandon called out in greeting.

While Anna and Walys smiled happily at Brandon, Rickard's face could have been made out of stone with the lack of expression that could be found upon it. He merely nodded his head at his heir and said, "Sit down, Brandon. Maester Walys has brought to my attention your wish to go to the Citadel, and I would hear your thoughts on the matter."

At first, Brandon was puzzled by his father's cold demeanor, until he realized Rickard thought he meant to give up his title as heir to Winterfell and become a Maester. Wanting to put his father's mind at ease, he quickly replied, "Yes father. I wish to continue my education at the Citadel and forge my links before returning to my duties as your heir."

As soon as he saw his father begin to relax, Brandon sighed softly in relief.

"And when do you think you will be ready to go to the Citadel, sweetling?" Anna asked curiously.

"I'm ready now, mother," Brandon answered. "If I can get there before my next Name-day, I'm confident I can forge my chosen links and return within three years."

Both Anna and Rickard blinked in surprise. While they had each been informed numerous times by Maester Walys about their son's intelligence, neither one was quite prepared for such a response. They assumed Brandon wanted to go to the Maesters when he was several years older. Most novices were at least six and ten when they entered the Citadel, yet here was their son, barely older than four name days, wanting to go now.

"Absolutely not, Brandon," Anna replied with a small glare. "You're much too young to go now. You will stay here, continue to learn with Maester Walys, and in a few years we can talk about your leaving again."

Before the young heir could respond, Maester Walys did it for him. "My apologies, Lady Stark, but I assure you that your son is ready for the Citadel right now."

Walys flinched when Anna's piercing gaze was directed towards him. "This is ridiculous, Maester. My son is still a child and you would send him away from his home? His family? Why can you not continue to teach him here at Winterfell?"

"Because he has already learned all that I can teach him here, my Lady."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at the answer. "Explain."

"Though I have remarked numerous times on young Brandon's intelligence, I believe, Lord Stark, that you and your Lady wife may not have understood how remarkable your son truly is. As of now his ability with letters and numbers already exceeds that of most novices entering the Citadel. This past year, not only has he learned to fluently speak and write in High Valyrian but now he is close to mastering Qartheen as well. I do not jest when I say that I don't have much left to teach him here. The books needed to further his education can only be found at the Citadel, and for that, he must go to Oldtown."

Once again the Lord and Lady Stark were baffled by the response and admittedly the pair felt a little guilty that they hadn't noticed their son's full potential.

"Are you sure this is what you want, my son?"

"Aye, father. It is. The quicker I can forge my links, the quicker I can return to Winterfell and use the knowledge I've gained to help the North."

"And how many links are you looking to forge, lad?" Rickard asked curiously.

"Six links in total," Brandon answered with a confident smirk. "Gold for math and economics, Iron for Warcraft, Silver for medicine and healing, Pale Steel for smithing, Red Gold for animal husbandry and Brass for Geography and Cartography. If things go as I plan, I may even forge one in Valyrian Steel for Magic."

Rickard leaned back in his chair and contemplated his son's future plans. Minus the one for Magic, the links his heir was looking to forge would certainly help the North in the long run. As much he respected and valued the council of Maester Walys, the old man only had links forged in Ravenry, Weather, and Politics.

What stopped Rickard from agreeing to all of this, was the look in his son's eyes. Though he may not have noticed or accepted Brandon's full potential, as a father he was confident he knew when his son was hiding something from him.

"Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Maester, but I would have words with my wife and son in private."

The aged scholar bowed his head in acquiescence and made his way out of the Solar. No sooner did the door shut behind him, did Rickard turn towards his son. "I will have the truth from you now, my son. Your mother and I may have failed you by not noticing the extent of your intelligence, but as a father, I can tell that you're hiding something from me. I'm certain your desire to go to the Citadel includes more than just learning and I wish to know what it is."

For a brief moment Brandon thought of denying any secondary reasons, but he quickly discarded the idea. His dreams for the North and its future would rely heavily on his father's support and he would not ruin their relationship with a needless lie.

"You are correct, father," Brandon replied. "As much as I desire to learn from the Maesters, my true reason for wanting to go to the Citadel is to gain access to their vast library. According to Walys the Citadel boasts around forty thousand books and tombs and I aim to bring back as much of that knowledge as I can."

Anna gasped softly when she heard her son's response. "You would steal from the Maesters and become a common thief?"

Brandon shook his head in reply. "Not in the manner you are thinking of, mother. Currently, it takes anywhere from a few weeks to a few months to copy a single book. Over the past few weeks I have been working on an idea and if the device I have created turns out as expected, I will be able to copy dozens of books in a single day."

For the third time that day, Anna felt amazed at her son's intellect. "Truly? Is such a thing really possible?"

Thanks to his memories from Alex Harris, who was an avid history buff, Brandon knew the printing press he was talking about could, in fact, do exactly what he claimed. At thirty-six books a day, it would take him roughly three years, give or take a few weeks for the tombs already found in Winterfell's library, to copy all forty thousand books and tombs at the Citadel.

"If father would allow me the use of Winterfell's blacksmith for a week, I'm certain I can create my device and prove it to you."

Much like his wife, Rickard was amazed by his heir's claim, but what he didn't understand was why it was necessary. "For what reason do you want all these books, lad?"

"Because knowledge is power, father, and I aim to give that power to House Stark. As of now, the Maesters hoard all of that information for themselves, thus forcing the realm to be beholden to them. They tell us when Winter is approaching. They tell us what things can and can't be done. They hold the secrets of treating the sick or the wounded and even for growing bountiful crops. But most of all they know truths that have long since been forgotten by the rest of the world, and I want to know what they are."

The Lord and Lady Stark shared a brief look and in the end, they reluctantly came to a decision.

Rickard nodded at his son and said, "Very well, lad. I'll make you a deal. Tomorrow you will start working with Mikken the blacksmith and at the end of the week if this device of yours does what you claim, then I'll arrange things with Walys to send you to Oldtown. But if it doesn't, then you will wait a few years before going there."

Brandon grinned and nodded his head in agreement, knowing full well the printing press would work. "That sounds more than fair, father. However, should my device work, I would like to make a request of you."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at his heir and then motioned with his hand for him to continue.

"While I'm in Oldtown I wish to begin my sword training and I would like for it to be done by Syrio Forel."

Rickard was initially confused as to who this Forel person was until he heard his wife say, "Isn't that the boy my sister and good brother are sponsoring as the next First Sword of Braavos?"

"Aye, mother. It is."

"But why would you want to learn Water Dancing, sweetling?" Anna asked, surprised by the request.

Brandon didn't actually care about learning Water Dancing. What he needed was an excuse as to why he knew the Jinsei Odori or the Dance of Life. From Xander's memories, Brandon knew it was a sword style that was taught to him by Faith Lehane, the Dark Slayer. The style took his other self seven years to master, but when he did, many of the Slayers often joked if it weren't for them Xander would be the greatest swordsman in the world.

By having Syrio with him in Oldtown, Brandon planned to use him to "create" the style for himself. Besides, Jinsei Odori and Water Dancing both required speed and phenomenal balance, which he could easily relearn with the Bravo's help.

"Because I'm too small to start the training the Master at arms does here at Winterfell," Brandon lied, knowing full well the increased density of his musculature would allow him to start such training right away. "Water Dancing requires speed and balance more than it does size and strength. Even if it's not the sword style I will end up using in the future, at the very least I can begin to learn swordplay. Having good speed, balance and footwork would only be beneficial to me once I return to Winterfell and start training with Ser Rodrik."

"And how exactly do you expect us to get this Syrio boy to teach you?" Rickard asked.

Brandon thought carefully how to answer the question, not wanting to offend either one of his parents with his idea, especially given the contentious relationship they currently had with his Aunt and good Uncle.

"By asking Aunt Aria for help," Brandon answered with a grimace.

"You know how things are with her right now, sweetling," Anna replied with a pained smile. "I doubt my good brother would be willing to help us, even if my sister asked it of him."

Once more Brandon took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. When he was ready, he said, "I realize this dispute is over the debt that is owed House Stark by Nuncle Joridos, but what I have in mind may be a way for the debt to be cleared without money actually exchanging hands."

"How so?," Anna asked, silently praying to the Old Gods for a way to end the feud.

Brandon could see the hope flitter across his mother's eyes. Anna Stark was a woman who believed deeply in the bonds between family and he knew that the loss of her sister hurt her something fierce.

Though his idea was born purely of selfish reasons, the silver lining to it would mean a great deal for his mother's happiness and for that alone Brandon hoped it would work.

"Aunt Aria owes you a debt, mother, because without your support not only would grandfather Alric never have allowed one of his daughters to marry a simple merchant like Joridos Dirrah, but father would never have lent the man money to start his business."

Rickard snorted in disgust. "Damn I right I wouldn't have."

Brandon had to fight not to roll his eyes at his father's response.

"Since Nuncle has been Syrio's sponsor for the past few years, the Water Dancer will be obliged to take his request seriously and by doing this for me, it can cancel out the debt they owe us. This way everyone wins."

As much as Anna loved her sister, the outstanding debt her good brother owed her husband had soured their relationship in the past few years. It was only for her sake that Rickard hadn't been more forceful in getting the money back, but maybe this way things could finally get better for her and Aria again.

When she looked towards her husband and saw him reluctantly nod his head at her, she couldn't help but smile at the man she loved. Hopefully, Aria could convince her husband of the same thing, and this horrible debt could finally go away.

"I'll send a Raven to my sister tomorrow, sweetling," Anna said with a smile. "It will depend on her and your good Uncle, but we should at least know their answer before you head off to Oldtown."

* * *

 **260: Training Grounds(Oldtown):**

At 5'6" Syrio Forel was a clean-shaven bald man of average height and a slim build. At one and twenty name days, he was dressed in the colorful finery commonly seen amongst most Bravos, with a single silver earring attached to his right year.

The inexpensive piece of jewelry was one of Syrio's dearest possessions because it was a reminder of the day he truly became a Water Dancer. At the tender age of two and ten, with barely a year of training behind him, he came across a group of thugs threatening a lone merchant.

Unable to stop himself, Syrio jumped to the man's rescue. The thugs he fought were all men grown and experienced in their line of work. But still, he refused to back down. Though his opponents were all stronger and faster than him, the young Bravo used his guile and cunning to dance around their blows until he could defeat them.

That random act of kindness on his part changed Syrio's life forever. The man he rescued was Joridos Dirrah, an up and coming member of the Merchant's Guild, that was quickly making a name for himself all throughout Braavos.

Joridos was so grateful for his life and goods being saved, he even agreed to sponsor Syrio's dream to become the First Sword of Braavos. Suddenly the young Bravo had access to the finest teachers, the best equipment, and the most nutritious foods. He seized this golden opportunity with both hands and never once looked back.

After seven long years of back-breaking hard work, of pushing himself to and then past his limits, again and again, Syrio finally made a name for himself that rivaled that of the current First Sword of the Sealord.

It was common knowledge in Braavos that Orbelo Diega was not long for this world. The only reason the sickly man still claimed the title of First Sword, was because he was married to the Sealord's favorite cousin.

There was no doubt in Syrio's mind that when Orbelo finally met his end, he would be the one the Sealord sent for. It's why he was so hesitant to accept Joridos' request to teach his good nephew Water Dancing. He had no desire to be so far away from Braavos at this crucial time, but when his friend assured him that if Orbelo passed he could come back right away, for the debt he owed the man Syrio reluctantly accepted.

Now as he stared at the sweaty and panting boy of five name days in front of him, Syrio couldn't be happier with his decision. The boy was a wonder of wonders.

Three moons prior, when he first laid eyes upon the child, Syrio was surprised by his age. Most children didn't begin their training till their eighth Name-day, but here he was being asked to train a boy several years younger than that. The fact that the child was specifically here to learn from the Maesters at the Citadel, Syrio knew the boy was intelligent, but he never once imagined that his martial skills would be as impressive as his mental ones.

That first day he thought the child would lack the stamina for a prolonged spar, but the boy impressed him time and again. His balance was exquisite, his strength and speed far beyond what a child his age should be capable of, but what drew Syrio to the boy was his situational awareness.

No matter how he struck him, his little apprentice was somehow aware of the oncoming blow. Most times he lacked the strength and speed to properly block the inevitable attack, but without fail he knew it was coming. The young wolf claimed he could hear the whistle of the blade as it cut through the air, and to his surprise, Syrio believed him.

Since that day he pushed his student to his limits and not once did the little boy complain. He worked diligently at every exercise that Syrio gave to him, no matter how ridiculous it seemed, often times exceeding what was expected of him. To be honest, the young Bravo couldn't have asked for a better first student. He had high hopes the boy would one day soon join him as a fellow Master of the Blade.

"Enough child. We are done for the day. Syrio is pleased with your progress and as a reward tomorrow he will teach you a new step to the Dance."

Stripped to his waist, Brandon wiped the sweat from his eyes and took care to sip slowly from the canteen his teacher just threw at him. After three excruciating months under his new "Dance partner", Brandon believed he finally earned enough of the man's respect to mention the Jinsei Odori.

Once his breathing was back under control, Brandon looked towards the Bravo and said, "Master Syrio, I was wondering if you would consent to help me with a sword style I've been working on."

Syrio arched an eyebrow at his student. "You have created your own style, young one?"

Brandon nodded once and replied, "Yes, master. For the past year, I have been constantly thinking about sword forms at night and then practicing them whenever I get a chance. I would like to see what you think about the style I am creating."

Syrio laughed loudly at the audacity of his student. Creating a style from scratch was difficult to do, but nigh impossible for a child who was still learning the basics himself. Despite his misgivings, the Water Dancer decided to humor the boy in front of him. "Very well, boy. Syrio will see this new style of yours. Defend yourself."

The brief warning was all Brandon needed to flow into his first stance and embrace the void. The Flame and Void was a technique where one visualized a flame and all thoughts, emotions and even concerns over life and death were fed into it. A true blademaster in the void could become one with his sword. Every cut, every thrust, every parry and every strike, perfectly in tune with the next.

It had taken Xander months to learn how to embrace the void and years to maintain it for long periods of time. With his other self's detailed memories to call upon, Brandon had been diligently practicing the technique since his third name day. And while he could now reach the void with ease, maintaining it for long stretches was still difficult for him to do.

As soon as he saw his teacher rush towards him, Brandon blocked the downward strike of Syrio's sword with The Swallow Takes Flight. His body blurred into motion and he attacked with The Wood Grouse Dances, Ribbon in the Air and Stones Falling From the Cliff, each form flowing seamlessly into the other.

Student and Master moved around the courtyard in a deadly dance, their music composed of wooden sword against wooden sword.

Syrio's face was a mask of perfect concentration, as he twirled through his steps, his sword arm a blur that blocked every attack that came his way. Though he had yet to use even a half of his true strength and speed, the future First Sword of Braavos was amazed at what his apprentice had created.

This new style was as deadly as his Water Dance but different in its own way. It seemed to be a perfect blend of the hack and slash style used by the Westerosi and the precision based attacks he himself used. From what little he'd seen of it so far, this new style relied on balance and footwork just as much as his own dance, while still allowing strength to play a pivotal role in the fight. It was a marvelous creation and one he looked forward to learning more about.

Suddenly he saw his student falter while making a peculiar attack and with a move born from countless hours of repetition, he easily sidestepped the fatal lunge meant for his chest and slapped the flat of his blade against Brandon's wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. His blade instantly glided up the arm, until the tip of the sword rested against the boy's neck.

"Do you yield, child?"

"I do, master," Brandon replied, disgusted with himself for losing his grip on the void at such a crucial point. Just as he was beginning to wonder if he had done enough to impress his teacher, Brandon heard the sound of a slow clap getting steadily louder.

"Well done, little wolf," Syrio said, still clapping loudly. "At first you surprise, but now you impress. Syrio likes your new dance very much, and he will gladly help you to give it shape. What do you call it? A dance like that should definitely have a name."

The young lord nodded his head in answer. Though he couldn't call the style by it's given name on Earth, he did have an alternative that fit the world he now belonged. "I call it...Ilysis Abra."

"Is that Valyrian, little wolf?" Syrio asked with a surprise. "What does it mean?"

Brandon smiled proudly at his teacher and replied, "It is, master, and it means...the Dance of Life."

* * *

 **261: White Tower Inn(Old Town):**

As he waited patiently for his father to arrive, Brandon took a sip of the water in front of him and thought about how exhausting the past year had been. At first, the Maesters had been so awestruck by his knowledge, they continuously hounded him everywhere he went.

As irritating as the situation was for him, by impressing the numerous Archmaesters he studied under, Brandon was granted special privileges that few were ever offered at the Citadel. One of these privileges extended to him the honor of taking a select number of books out of the Citadel itself. Since everyone knew he was also receiving sword training from Syrio, when he asked to keep a few books with him at the inn he was staying at, he was given special permission to do so.

Thanks to that wonderful gift, the seven servants Brandon trained to use the printing press, were slowly copying every book and tomb he could get his hands on. At the rate things were going, it wouldn't be out of the realm of impossibility for him to finish his given task even before the three years was complete.

During this time his relationship with Syrio had also grown by leaps and bounds. As a result of their friendship, Brandon learned of his teacher's numerous connections throughout the Free Cities and one in particular caught his attention.

A few years back Syrio did an errand for his good uncle in Pentos and became friends with a well-respected surveyor. At Brandon's request, his teacher readily agreed to contact his friend and hired him to check out several plots of land in the North that Brandon was curious about.

Ever since he read up on the House of Lannister, it always baffled Brandon why the Starks weren't shitting as much gold as the Lions. The North had twice as many mountain ranges as the Westerlands, and they were all twice as big in size.

At first, he thought that the previous Stark Lords had looked, but hadn't found anything of worth. However, when he asked his father about it in a letter, it turned out there was no mention in the Lord's Journals of a survey ever being done of the North. So with his father's permission, he used Syrio's connections to hire one for House Stark.

That was six moons ago. Six weeks ago he received a Raven from his father, with a copy of the report given to him by the surveyor. As it turned out, the previous Stark Lords were all idiots.

The mountains that stretched North from the foothills of the Stony Shore, all the way past the bogs of Sea Dragon Point to the Wolfswood and stretched East to the lake that forms the northern border of the Rills, was full of thick veins of Gold. Veins that had never been tapped into, and ones that could easily last for the next several thousand years.

Then there was Long Lake. It lay between the Clan mountains on the West and the Lonely Hills on its Eastern border and it was full of precious gems. Gems that once again had never been discovered in the eight thousand years the Stark Family held dominion over the North.

The final area Brandon asked the surveyor to check was the mountains where the various Clans lived and surprise surprise they were rich in Iron ore.

Over the past year, there were several instances where Brandon had to control his anger after hearing a joke made at the expense of the North. Southerners liked to mock his people as savages that were too stupid to leave the lands of Winter.

It angered him how these southern cunts looked down at northerners, but after reading the survey report, he almost wanted to agree with them. He was disgusted by Northern stupidity. They were literally sitting on a mountain's worth of wealth and not one person had ever discovered it.

A flurry of Ravens was immediately exchanged between Brandon and his father and he was able to convince the Lord of House Stark to come speak to him at Oldtown. With the vast wealth now available to them, Brandon had a plan for the North that would make both House Stark and it's vassals richer together. He just needed to sell the idea to his father first.

When the door to his private room suddenly opened, Brandon looked up to see the imposing figure of his father walking in. Despite his arrival late last night, the heir of Winterfell was surprised at how refreshed the older man looked.

"Good morning, father. I take it you slept well."

"Morning, lad," Rickard grunted back. "Aye. I slept well. Your mother sends her regards."

Brandon grinned at the mention of his mother. He missed her dearly and looked forward to the day he could see her again. "I'm pleased to hear that. How is my new little brother doing?"

This time it was Rickard's turn to let loose a pleased smile, as he thought of his recently born second son. "He's doing well, lad. Mark my words, he'll be a strong one when he grows up. The boy has a wail that can wake the entire Castle."

Brandon laughed at the news and then told his father about his time with the Maesters and Syrio. After a few minutes, once the pair was all caught up, the discussion turned to the real reason behind Rickard's presence in Oldtown.

"Alright, lad. Now that we've had our fun, tell me why you were so insistent that I come down here and speak to you."

Since the day he read the surveyor's report, Brandon had been preparing himself for this meeting. Under his father's watchful gaze he pulled out a large map of the North and extended it down the length of the table.

"As of now, other than Winterfell, the House of Stark has no other holdings," Brandon began. "Your primary source of income, father, is the tax you collect from your vassals at the end of each year."

When he saw Rickard nod his head in agreement, Brandon continued, "With the resources we now have available to us, we can easily change that. I mean for us to build five new holdfasts and keep all of them under Stark control."

"And where exactly would these new holdfasts be, lad?", Rickard asked curiously since the majority of the viable lands in the North was already divided between the various vassals that were sworn to House Stark.

Brandon flashed his father an eager smile and replied, "The first one is in the Wolfswood west of Winterfell and it's called Crofter's Village."

Rickard stared down at the map for a moment and said, "But that land's already taken, boy."

"Says who, father?" Brandon asked back. "Unlike the other holdings, this village has no one designated by our House to hold these lands. The mere hundred and fifty people that live here don't send us any taxes and yet according to the surveyor's report, they live on the best farming lands in the entire North. That includes both Brandon's Gift, as well as the New Gift near the Wall."

When he realized his son's words were true, the Lord of House Stark shook his head in disgust at this lack of foresight. The number of innocent lives lost during countless Winters could have easily been saved if not for his and his predecessors' failure. He was ashamed that he hadn't thought of these lands before, but now that he knew of their value, that would certainly change.

"What do you have in mind, son?", he asked.

"My plans for these lands are twofold. First, we cut down several miles of trees on either side of the two lakes that the village currently sits between. This way we can double the amount of farmable land that we have available to us. Then I want to build Wolfswood Port here, at the easternmost tip of the larger of the two lakes."

"And why exactly is there going to be a port in the middle of a large forest?"

Brandon pointed his finger further down at a particular point on the map and said, "The White Knife river comes up from White Harbor and splits right here. One branch empties into the Long Lake, while the other branch empties into the larger of the two lakes at the village.

I plan to extend a canal from that lake all the way to the coast of Sea Dragon Point and into the Sunset Sea. The new port will not only be responsible for delivering goods meant for Winterfell and Cerwyn, it will also act as a deterrent for any unauthorized ships that come down the canal. As an added bonus, this will also boost trade for Lord Manderly and White Harbor, since it would allow them quicker access to the western coast."

When he looked up towards his father, Brandon could easily see what the man was thinking. "I know that you're worried about the Ironborn taking advantage of this canal, father, but the next holdfast I plan to create should deal with any concerns you may have."

Not waiting for his father to respond, Brandon quickly continued, "Since the fall of House Frost in the second Bolton revolt, no family has laid claim to these lands in the past nine hundred years. Which to me is surprising, because according to the reports the Maesters have on it, Sea Dragon Point is teaming with Otters, Seals, Clams, Oysters, Lobsters and numerous types of Fish. Further away from the coast, the lands attached to the Point are full of hills and wide pastures, which are perfect for grazing animals. But it's greatest value comes from the hundred hidden coves dispersed throughout the area.

"And exactly what value do these coves hold?"

"They're perfect for ship-building," Brandon answered with a smirk. "Centuries back, in a fit of grief over the loss of his father, Bran the Burner destroyed the last Northern Navy and _this_ Bran intends to bring it back. By the time I'm done, we'll have a Navy that will be more than a match for anything found in the South."

"So you want to build ships here?," Rickard asked with a chuckle, still not believing a child as young as his son had planned all of this out.

"Not just ships, but a city," Brandon replied. "The Black Harbor will be to the west coast what White Harbor is to the east. Only this city will be far larger and grander. I intend to make it twice the size of Lannisport, but still smaller than King's Landing. The entire city will be enclosed with eighty-foot walls and separated into three sections. The front half will be for the businesses, while the back half will be for the people to live in. And right in the middle will be Sea Wolf Castle."

"Sea Wolf Castle? Shouldn't it be called Sea Dragon Castle?"

Brandon shook his head in response. "Dragons died out long ago and with the Direwolf as the sigil of our House, it only makes sense to change the name. We're going to rename the point to Sea Wolf Point, and the Northern Navy will become the Sea Wolves that strike fear into the hearts of those Ironborn cunts."

Rickard let loose a loud bellow at this, reveling at his son's plans for the raiders that have plagued his lands for centuries. After his brief moment of levity, he motioned for his son to continue.

"The Castle will extend almost to the wall on both sides, protected by large iron gates that when raised, will leave just enough room for ten men walking abreast to pass through. Should there ever come a time the city walls are breached, the small folk can be sequestered in the residential district, while the defenders bleed the invading force slowly down the front half of the city, only for them to end up in front of the Castle's hundred foot walls."

As he ran his fingers through his slightly greying hair, Rickard blinked in surprise at the thought of such a magnificent city. Unfortunately, he couldn't think too long about it, because his son drew his attention to the next point on the map.

"The third holdfast I want to create will be a Fortress in the foothills of the mountains near Stony Shore. And we'll call it the Golden Fang."

Rickard was bemused by the familiar sounding name. "Doesn't the Golden Tooth protect the mountain pass leading to the Lannister mines?"

"It does, but a fang is far more intimidating than a mere tooth and so too will be this fortress in comparison to the Lannister castle. However, the key to building this holdfast will mean we can't start on the gold mines until after it's finished."

"And why would we have to wait?"

"Because of House Ryswell," Brandon explained. "When House Ryder was still in power, they claimed the lands from Stony Shore all the way to the branch of the Saltspear west of Barrowtown. When House Ryswell took them over, they only claimed The Rills, which extends from the Saltspear on the east, to a no-name river just before the mountains on the Shore.

Over the years they've complained often enough of having to deal with Ironborn raids coming from the Shore, that if we explain the Fang as a deterrent for such attacks, they would gladly cede the territory to House Stark. Once it's done and the Gold mines become known, it will be too late for them to complain about it."

For the second time that day the Lord of House Stark let loose a bellowing laugh at his son's cunning. The Houses Ryswell and Dustin in Barrowtown may be sworn vassals of his, but due to the numerous marriages between them and House Bolton, the Starks were always leery of trusting them too much.

House Bolton was easily the second strongest House in the North and every Lord Stark knew to be wary of the former Red Kings. While their loyalty hadn't been tested in several generations, the Starks were raised knowing the Boltons would attack at any sign of weakness. Should that ever happen, there was no doubt in Rickard's mind which side the Houses of Ryswell and Dustin would support.

Brandon laughed briefly along with his father and then pointed to the next spot on the map. "The fourth holdfast I want to make is at Long Lake and it will consist of two small castles called the Twintails.

The first castle will be placed at the southernmost tip of Long Lake, where the branch of the White Knife empties into it. Then I intend to extend a canal from the northernmost tip of the Lake, all the way up to the Last River that drains into the Clan mountains. The second castle will be placed at the merger of the canal and the river.

Between the two of them, not only will they be able to harvest the precious gems found in the Lake, but they will also be able to collect and dispense goods to and from the Mountain Clans, Last Hearth, Karhold, Castle Black, Dreadfort, and Winterfell."

"Your words are pleasing to my ears, Bran, but truth be told there aren't exactly a lot of goods that need trading in the North. Especially not for the amount of work that you're suggesting."

"As it stands, you're right, father. However, we can change that within a span of six months."

"How so?" Rickard asked, intrigued by the idea of the new trade.

"A few months back I met one of Syrio's friends, who also happens to be a successful Qartheen Merchant. He spoke a lot about his travels to the distant lands of Yi-Ti and with his help, we could bring in a number of new crops, spices and even a new horse species for us to trade. If we split up some of the incoming goods between the various Houses, everyone can get rich together."

Rickard shook his head at the idea. "As nice as all of this sounds, lad, if these goods come from so far away, I doubt they would survive in the colds of the North."

"They would if we grew them in Glass Gardens," Brandon replied.

"In case you haven't noticed, boy, there's only one of those in the whole of the North. Even if the gold mines were active right now, the cost it would take for Myr to produce enough of them for what you have in mind would make sure we didn't see any of our gold for the next several decades."

Brandon was prepared for his father's response. "What if I told you it would cost you less than a single gold dragon to make a Glass Garden."

"I'd go find the nearest Maester and have him check you for madness," Rickard answered with a grunt. "I know what you're thinking, lad, but you can't just use any old glass to make these types of gardens. Only Myr has the secret to the clear panels that we would need."

Brandon left the table and made his way to the small nightstand next to his bed. On top of it, there was a roughly bound object and a thin piece of paper, which he shoved into his trouser pocket. Gently picking the wrapped bundle up, he took it back to the table and handed it to his father.

Rickard was confused by the action, but nonetheless, he unwrapped the bundle. What he found inside was a small glass panel exactly like the ones used for the Glass Garden in Winterfell. "How do you have this, Bran? It must have cost a small fortune."

Over the years Xander did many things for the Scoobies, but it wasn't until he went to Africa that his hobbies were truly appreciated. Always good with his hands, he was just as skilled as a blacksmith, as he was as a carpenter or construction worker.

At times Xander and his Slayers would stay in a village long after they killed whatever Vampire or Demon they were hunting. During those stays they would also help in whatever way they could. Sometimes that involved farming, while other times it may be with help building something. But the times where Xander got to work in a forge were always his favorite.

It was thanks to Xander's memories, that Brandon knew how to make the glass panels he needed for the Gardens. All it took was a few coins for the blacksmith's apprentice to let him use the forge at night and now that he was certain how to make the panels, he could easily mass produce the Gardens for all the future Stark holdfasts.

"I made it, father. It took me some time, but I was able to figure out Myr's secret for the glass panels."

"You made it?" Rickard asked in awe. "Just like that?"

"It wasn't quite as easy as you're imagining, but yes, I figured it out. And once I return to Winterfell, I can make sure that all our new holdfasts have multiple Glass Gardens."

"Why just our holdfasts?"

"Because it gives us power," Brandon explained. "During winter Winterfell takes in hundreds of small folk and thousands more flock to Winter Town for our patronage. At times we even send food to those Houses that have emptied their stores too early during winter and we do all of this with a single Glass Garden.

The extra gardens will make sure we can supply everyone with plenty of food, but still, keep them beholden to us. Besides, with what I have planned for the strongest Houses, they should make more than enough profit to not be too envious of House Stark's good fortune."

"Tell me more, boy," Rickard said eagerly, his expression indicating he was more than pleased with the idea of the North prospering as a whole.

"Well, the first House we can help are the Reeds of Greywater Watch. One of the crops I want to import from Yi-Ti is called rice. Once it's harvested, as long as it's kept dry, it can keep for several years without going bad. And the best thing is, the ideal place for it to grow is the swamps and marshes controlled by House Reed. With just a little bit of effort, Greywater will hold a monopoly on a major cash crop and their coffers will grow well from it."

Rickard nodded his head in approval. The Crannogmen that lived in the Neck were not only one of his most loyal Vassals, but sadly they were also one of the poorest Houses in the North. He was more than pleased that they would benefit so greatly from this endeavor.

"To the west of House Reed reside the Flints of Flint's Finger. The House makes its money off a handful of fishing villages they have along the coast of Blazewater Bay, but currently they give us little in the way of taxes. I plan to change that by helping them create Vineyards on their unused lands. By bringing in high-quality grapes from Essos, with a little help, we can have them making money in no time."

Unlike his son's previous suggestion, Rickard was bemused by this one. "While this sounds nice, lad, why would anyone want to buy wine from the Flints?"

Brandon wasn't surprised by the question. Between the Arbor and Dorne alone, Westeros had plenty of vintages available to the Nobility. When you add in the wines imported from the Free Cities, it was easy to assume a new vineyard would have little to no appeal to the masses, let alone the Nobility of Westeros. The answer to this dilemma came in the form of his Alex Harris' memories. Not only was his family known to be elite wine connoisseurs, but thanks to them having a small vineyard of their own, Brandon was well aware of the modern practices associated with winemaking.

"Because I plan on using an alternate form of fermenting for the grapes," Brandon replied. "By using this method in conjunction with the new farming techniques I plan to implement, the Flints can produce better quality wines, that are cheaper to make and still have a high yield on the grapes grown."

Rickard stared at his son, not knowing what to think. If anyone other than his blood promised him such results, he would have scoffed at their wild boasts and banished them from his presence. But his heir was different. So far Brandon had achieved everything that he set out to do and he had faith this endeavor would be yet another one of his successes.

"The next House we can help, are the Umbers from Last Hearth," Brandon continued. "Right now the House is known for raising sheep, but only a little of the wool they produce is sold for profit. Personally, I think it's a poor use of their resources. With their close proximity to Last River, their lands have excellent grazing grounds. What I want to do is buy cows in bulk from the South and Essos and give them to the Umbers. All they would need is some guidance to get them started, and they could easily become the major distributor of milk, cheese, butter, beef and leather for the North."

For yet another time that day, Rickard shook his head in disgust. His son's suggestion was simultaneously so brilliant and simple, that he was surprised no one had thought of it before.

Meanwhile, Brandon in his excitement was already moving on to the next House on the map.

"Another House we could help is the Dustins in Barrowtown."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at the news. While he may not trust the members of the House too much, they were still one of the wealthiest families in the North, second only to the Manderlys from White Harbor. He wasn't sure how he felt about helping them get even stronger. Unlike the Reeds, the Flints and the Umbers, Rickard didn't feel like he had the full loyalty of the House.

"Right now the House of Dustin is the leading producer of Wool for the majority of Westeros. This has definitely kept their coffers full, but in my opinion they are still underutilizing their lands. I would like to help them build several chicken, pig and turkey farms. Between the selling of these meats, and the eggs from the chicken, while also continuing their Wool production, they could easily double their yearly income. This, in turn, would mean more tax revenues for our House."

And once again, a simple suggestion drastically improves the lives of one of his Vassal Houses. As proud as Rickard was of his eldest child's vision for the future, he was equally embarrassed at his own inability to address these deficiencies for himself.

For far too long the North had remained stagnant. After thousands of years of doing the same thing their forefathers did, they had become so accustomed to the old ways, no one ever thought to try something new. But now the winds of change were blowing at his son's urging and it was time for the North to change with them.

Rickard was pulled from his musings at the mention of yet another House he wasn't too fond of.

"My plans for House Ryswell could actually be a huge boon for the North."

"How so?" Rickard asked curiously.

"Currently the Ryswells provide the whole of the North with horses," Brandon answered. "The problem with their mounts is that while they have excellent endurance, they lack the size and strength of the southern Destriers. In any kind of Cavalry battle between the North and the South, the southern War Horses would overwhelm our mounts with ease."

The Lord of House Stark grimaced at the harsh truth. Several times in the past the Ryswells tried to bring in Destriers from the South, but they either died early on or the harsh environment of the North quickly sapped future generations of their strength and speed.

"True enough, lad. The whole of the North is aware of this discrepancy. The Ryswells have tried breeding southern horses before but to no avail. It seems the only type of mounts that can live in the North, are the ones that we already have."

"Maybe not, father," Brandon replied with a knowing smirk. "According to the Maesters, there is a type of War Horse in Yi-Ti called a Zorse. It's bred solely by the Jogos Nhai Clan and Syrio's Qartheen friend is on very good terms with them. With his help, we can easily gain a few Stallions and Mares to breed for ourselves."

"Why would these mounts survive in the North, any better than the southern horses we tried before?"

"Besides the fact that these horses are capable of surviving on weeds and devil's grass for months at a time, all the while traveling long distances without water or fodder, it's because of the way they were made."

"What in the name of the gods are you talking about, boy?"

"In the journal that I read this," Brandon explained eagerly. "A Maester was sent to Yi-Ti centuries back, and while there he witnessed a Magic ritual where the size and strength of one horse was merged with the speed and ferocity of another. The new breed that was born that day had a grey coloring, with black stripes covering its entire body. An exact description of what a Zorse looks like. It's said that even the Dothraki admit that Zorses are on par with their own mounts."

Rickard snorted in disgust at his son's naive proclamation. "Magic doesn't exist, lad. These are just tall tales told to children to pass the time."

Brandon rolled his eyes at the remark because it was one he'd heard countless times in some form or another since his arrival at the Citadel.

The Maesters were quick to say that Magic wasn't real, but never once did they mention that it did in fact exist in the past. Their own eyewitness accounts told them that Dragons were real, and things like Valyrian Steel and the Wall in the North were proof that Magic still existed in some form even today. If Bran was right, the Magic used to make the Zorses still existed within them and not even the cold of the North would sap future generations of this.

Perhaps it was Xander's memories of dealing with Magic on numerous occasions, but unlike the majority of Westeros, Brandon wasn't so quick to believe it was gone. As far as he was concerned, even if it were true and Magic no longer existed in the world, who's to say it wouldn't come back the future. After all, he was sent here by the Gods to deal with the return of the Others.

"I'm sorry to say this, father, but you're wrong," Brandon replied with a hint of irritation evident in his voice. "Maesters that are sent out of Westeros are specifically trained to detail everything they see for the Citadel. The ritual I speak of was described vividly by a Maester that was there in person. Just because everyone likes to pretend that Magic doesn't exist, doesn't mean we should ignore the fact that it once did.

Regardless of that fact, it doesn't matter if you believe in Magic or not. Zorses are naturally hearty beasts and I'm confident they will grow well in the North. If I'm right, we will soon have the best mounts in all of Westeros and House Ryswell's coffers will grow like never before. If I'm wrong, at worst it will only cost us some gold and a little bit of time to try."

Rickard was surprised by his son's passionate defense of Magic, and for the first time since he was a child, did he wonder if he were mistaken about its existence. Back in Winterfell Maester Walys often joked that Brandon was actually Bran the Builder reborn. If Magic were real, perhaps it was true. It would certainly explain how his son was able to come up with these incredible plans at such a young age.

"Alright lad," Richard said to appease his son. "We can give it a try when the time comes."

Brandon nodded gratefully, pleased that he had his father's support. "The next House that would benefit from these changes, would be House Glover of Deepwood Motte. As of now, the Glovers provide oat, barley, and hay for the North, but they only use a quarter of their lands to do so. With the changes made to the other Houses, they would have to increase their production of all three products, which indirectly on our part leads to more money in their coffers."

Rickard grinned at the thought of another poor, but very loyal House, that would prosper with these changes.

"Well done, son. Galbart Glover is a good friend of mine, and I'm pleased to see that he will benefit from all of this."

"Thank you, father," Brandon replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "I just wish I was able to help every one of our sworn Houses in such a manner. Unfortunately, other than the Karstarks and the Forresters, I don't have any more ideas for the rest."

Rickard leaned over the table and gently patted his son's shoulder. "What you've done here, Bran is already more than anyone from our House has done before. In this past hour I have never been more ashamed of myself or our ancestors, but thanks to you we can finally make the North what it should have been long ago. I promise you, lad, given enough time all of our people will be enriched by these changes."

When he saw his son look up at him and smile, Rickard couldn't help but grin back. "At least your mother won't be upset that you left out her father's House from your plans," he joked.

"Mother has nothing to fear," Brandon replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand. "Grandfather and Lord Forrester from Ironrath are key cogs in my plans for the Northern Navy."

"I assume they will be providing the wood for the ships," Rickard remarked.

"Yes, but only in the case of Lord Forrester. I plan on having grandfather provide wood for Braavos.," Brandon answered.

"Why would Braavos need to buy wood from us?"

"They wouldn't. We're going to give it to them for free."

The Head of House Stark blinked at the response. "I'm sorry, lad, but did you just say we're going to give Braavos the wood for free?"

Brandon nodded his head, his grey eyes flashing with mirth at the idea he was about to reveal.

"When talking with Syrio, he often boasts that Braavos has the greatest Navy in the entire world. According to him, in times of war the shipyards of the city can build a war galley in a single day. The sheer knowledge and ability their shipwrights possess to be able to do that is something I want for the North.

I plan to offer them five years of free wood and then another five years of wood at half the price they would normally pay, for fifty shipwrights and a hundred and fifty workers for a period of seven years. During that time, the House of Stark will supply these men with food, lodging and whatever wages they would have earned had they stayed in Braavos. "

"And you think Braavos would willingly agree to such a deal?"

"When I suggested this idea to Syrio, he assured me the Merchants in charge of the shipyards would jump at the chance to reduce costs to such an extent. Their shipyards are literally overflowing with workers, so they could easily give us the men that we want. And with the right bribe to the right person, we can ensure that most of the men they send us are their best and brightest."

"Will seven years be enough to build your Navy?"

"Not at all, father," Brandon answered. "The ships made during these years will all be considered practice ships. Their sole purpose will be to give our own burgeoning shipwrights the experience they will need to build the real Navy once the Braavosi are gone. At that time, if any of the ships that were already made are good enough to keep, we can turn them into cargo ships later on."

Rickard was momentarily taken aback at the thought of wasting all those years with the Braavosi shipwrights.

"Why wait till the seven years are done? Wouldn't it be better to have the experienced shipwrights there when we build the Navy?"

Brandon shook his head in answer. "No, and I have two reasons for that. The first is because I don't want anyone to know how big our Navy will be until it's done. And the second is because I want to use Ironwood to form the hull of each ship."

Rickard hissed through his teeth at the idea. Ironwood was a black wood that is considered to be the strongest wood in the world and nearly impervious to flame. In truth the wood could still burn, but not with ease. The largest Ironwood forest in Westeros was located in the Wolfswood adjacent to Winterfell and it was completely under the control of House Forrester."

"Damn boy. When you dream, you sure as hell dream big. Do you know how hard it's going to be to get that much Ironwood from the Forresters?"

Brandon just shrugged his shoulders in response. "I'm not saying it will be easy, or that we won't pay an absurd amount to get the wood, but it can be done. The Forresters are a sworn House of Deepwood Motte, so between you and Lord Glover, you should be able to get Lord Forrester to agree. Along with whatever monetary compensation you decide upon, we can even promise to plant saplings to replace the trees we cut down."

Rickard massaged his head, as he felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. "Just how big is this Navy that you're planning, lad."

"A hundred and eighteen ships to start with," Brandon answered. "They will be divided into fifty Longships, twenty-two Dromonds, thirty-six Galleys and ten Carracks."

"That's a very specific number and type for the ships."

"Every plan that I have shared with you today wasn't done on a whim, father. I've researched and thought it through to the best of my abilities. If everything goes according to plan, our Navy will have twenty-five Longships and five Dromonds patrolling the west coast from the Cape of Kraken to Bear Island. Another twenty-five Longships and five Dromonds will patrol the east coast from White Harbor to Skagos Island.

Furthermore, a squad of five Galleys and one Dromond will be permanently anchored at both Black Harbor and White Harbor for their protection. The remainder of the Galleys and Dromonds under our control will be used to guard the ten Carracks that will carry goods to and from the North.

In the end, our numbers may not match up to the other Navies in Westeros and Essos, but I guarantee you our ships will be better built and our men better trained."

"What of Karhold?" Rickard asked. "Even if he is your grandfather, I doubt Alric would agree to give his wood away for free."

"He won't have to," Brandon replied. "With the gold mines under our control, we can pay him the full amount for the first five years and cover the remainder for the second five. The entire deal will cost the House of Stark a pretty penny, but having Braavosi trained shipwrights of our own will be well worth the price."

Rickard ran his fingers through his hair and then sighed. "I'm not sure how we'll do it, but Galbart and I will get you the Ironwood you need."

Brandon grinned happily at his father and then pointed to another place on the map. "The final new holdfast I want to create is the one at Moat Cailin."

Rickard didn't need to look at the map to know the value of Moat Cailin. Surrounded by miles upon miles of harsh swampland, even now, with only three of the once mighty twenty towers still standing, a handful of men could defend the North against almost any assault from the South.

"Aye, lad. That one is a must. For centuries our family has wanted to rebuild Moat Cailin, but we never had the resources to do it before."

Brandon nodded his head in agreement, knowing full well the importance of the place. "My plans to rebuild the Moat will be different from its original design. Instead of having twenty towers, I plan on only having nine, but each one will be twice as big as the original towers."

In his excitement, Brandon reached into his trouser pocket, pulled out the sketch he picked up from the nightstand earlier and handed it to his father.

While the older man viewed the drawing, Brandon continued, "The first thing we'll need to do is tear down the three existing towers in the ruins, so we can start anew. The new walls surrounding the Moat will be a hundred and fifty feet in height.

"What? That's even bigger than Winterfell, Bran," Rickard exclaimed.

"I know, father, but that's only because I haven't told you my plans for Winterfell yet."

Before Rickard could ask him what he meant, Brandon raised his hand to stop him and said, "I have every intention of telling you my plans for our family home, but I ask that you let me finish this first."

Rickard was reluctant to wait, but after a moment he caved to his son's request and motioned for him to continue.

"The northernmost section of the Moat will have three towers in a half circle and they will all be facing south. The middle part of the Moat will have three towers going in a straight line, while the southernmost section will have another three towers in a half circle, but this time facing north."

"The eight outer towers of the Moat will each be two hundred and fifty feet in height, and a hundred and fifty feet in diameter. They will all be connected by a circular bridge made of stone, that itself hangs a hundred feet in the air. At the center of this will be the Lord's Tower, which at three hundred feet will be taller than the rest and connected to each of them by a series of individual stone bridges that will also be a hundred feet off the ground."

With the bridges connecting the towers in the air, the grounds of the Moat are left completely bare. Against the North wall there will be a small garden, in the middle of which will rest a large Septa for any followers of the Seven that stay at or visit Moat Cailin.

On either side of the Septa, there will be five Glass Gardens that will be the sole producers of Cocoa and Coffee beans in the North. Both are products that I want to bring in from Yi-Ti and if I'm right about how to use them properly, they will also make the future Lord of Moat Cailin insanely rich.

Against the Eastern wall rests a small Godswood that was already there. It's not as large in comparison to the one we have at Winterfell, but it's more than enough for a man to pay his respects to the Old Gods.

The entirety of the Western wall will be taken up by a two-story Stable, that can easily house eighteen hundred horses. As for..."

"That's enough," Rickard interrupted. "This...this is all unnecessary, Brandon. At even half the size of what you're planning, Moat Cailin would be more than strong enough to protect against any threat that came from the South. The rest of this extravagance is completely unneeded."

The moment he heard his father's response, Brandon wanted to scream in frustration. He knew his father was a pragmatic man, one who didn't understand or didn't care that the southerners valued wealth as much as they did physical strength.

"But this is necessary, father," he tried to explain. "If we ever want the Seven Kingdoms to know how far we have grown, then a show of wealth is as important as a show of strength."

"No it's not, Brandon," Rickard shouted at his son. "Perhaps you've spent so much time in the South that you've forgotten that in the North we don't..."

"Because I'm sick and tired of these fucking southerners looking down at us," Brandon shouted back, interrupting his father's tirade. "Do you know how they speak of us? Savages that are too stupid to leave the North for the comforts of the rest of Westeros. They use the sigil of our fucking House as a slur against our people. Wolves they call us. That's part of the reason I had every new holdfast bear a wolf theme. I aim to shove that slur so far down their throats, that one day when they call us Wolves they do so in either respect or fear."

"Watch your fucking tone when you speak to me, boy," the Lord of House Stark barked back angrily. "I am still your father and the Lord Paramount of North. I will not be spoken to in such a manner."

Brandon instantly knew he'd gone too far with his passionate plea, by disrespecting his Head of House. Taking a deep breath to control his whirlwind of emotions, he quickly admitted to his fault. "My apologies, father. I didn't mean to cause offense."

Rickard slowly nodded his head at the apology. "You are forgiven, my son," he replied, his entire demeanor significantly calmer than before. "As smart as you are, lad, you need to remember that you aren't Lord Stark just yet."

When he saw his son nod his head in agreement, Rickard asked, "Why do you care so much what these people think of you?"

"I don't give two shits what they think about me, father, but I refuse to let them mock our people and our family name. Though it pains me to admit it, these southerners aren't weak. They can all field armies comparable to ours. Hell, the Reach and the Westerlands can field an army thrice as big as the North. If we ever want them to see us as equals, we have to show them that we aren't the savages they think we are."

"And you think flaunting our new found wealth will suddenly earn you their respect?"

"I know it won't," Brandon replied with certainty that surprised his father. "But it sure as hell will shut their mouths up. One day soon the South will take notice of what's happening in the North. They will hear the rumors of what our House is doing and they will want to see these changes for themselves. On that day, when these southerners see a Stark holding for the first time, I want them to be both intimidated by its strength and awed by its beauty. I want our family name to finally be spoken with the same deference as the rest of the Great Houses in the Seven Kingdoms."

Rickard leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath to calm himself. There was a time in his youth when he dreamed of humbling the South, just like his son. But the burden of ruling the North didn't leave much time for fanciful thoughts.

It was a harsh land that required hard men and women to live in it. With the ever-present threat of Winter approaching, he'd long ago given up caring what the rest of Westeros thought of his people. But now, as he stared into his son's piercing grey eyes, he thought maybe it was time to try something new.

"I won't lie to you, son. I'm a man already set in his ways. Try as I might to change with the times, I'm not sure how much I will succeed. But you do not have this failing. With your intelligence and drive, I'm certain you will be the one to bring about this new North. I will support you to the best of my abilities, I just hope it's enough to do what needs to be done."

"It will be, father," Brandon answered with such conviction, that any who heard him at that moment would believe his words to be true. "I swear by the Old Gods and the New, that I won't let you or the North down. I promise you we will soon have the respect our House and our people deserve."

"All right then, boy, we are of the same mind when it comes to your dream. Now tell me about your plans for Winterfell."

Brandon grinned happily at his father's words and then leaned back into his own chair, before saying, "As the seat of power for House Stark, Winterfell needs to be greater than all our other holdings. At first, I was uncertain how to accomplish this, until I was inspired by Harren the Black?"

Rickard whistled softly at that. "You aim to re-create another Harrenhal?"

"Not exactly, father," Brandon replied. "Harrenhal is roughly four times the size of Winterfell and I have no desire to defend a place that vast. However, that doesn't mean we need to leave Winterfell as it is. Currently, the enclosed space of the Castle is roughly twenty-four acres, three of which are taken up by the Godswood. If we push back the walls to where I have in mind, we can easily increase the enclosed size to fifty acres."

Rickard blinked once, twice and then a third time. Once he was sure he heard his son correctly, he asked, "Correct me if I'm wrong, boy, but you want me to tear down the walls that have protected Winterfell for thousands of years?"

Brandon grinned sheepishly and nodded his head. "Well, yeah, I do, but if it's any consolation we won't tear down the old walls until the new ones are built first. And with the Skag stone we will be using, the new walls will actually be a lot stronger than before."

Though he was still in shock at the very idea of tearing down Winterfell's walls, Rickard was quickly drawn to the new wall's supposed strength. "What exactly is Skag Stone, Bran?" he asked his son curiously.

For the second time that day, Brandon got up from his chair and made his way to the nightstand. When he came back, he placed several small black, grey and white pieces of stone down on the table.

"This is Skag stone."

Rickard was momentarily taken aback by the sight of the rocks. "Isn't this just Marble?" he asked.

Brandon shook his head and said, "They may look like Marble, but these stones can only be found on Skagos Island."

"I don't understand. They're certainly shinier than the ones we have at Winterfell, but what's so special about them?"

"A few months back I came across a Maester from the Citadel that has been studying these stones. According to his research, while these stone may look like Marble or Granite, they are _almost_ as hard as diamonds. As an added bonus, they can also regulate temperature well. Which means, in the summer they will remain cool to the touch and in Winter they won't warp when we pump water from the hot springs through them."

Rickard felt his jaw almost drop at the thought of walls as hard as diamond. "Why the hell aren't the other Lords trying to get this stone for themselves?"

"Because no one knows that these stones even exist," Brandon answered with a smirk

"How is that possible, boy?"

"The Maester doing the research is very far down in the Citadel hierarchy. So far he's been unable to present his results to any of the Archmaesters and with the current War of Ninepenny Kings taking up the majority of the Conclave's time, I doubt he will get a chance anytime soon. I'm pretty sure the only reason he even showed me his research was because I have the ear of the Archmaesters."

"So you lied to him?" Rickard asked, not sure how he felt about the deed.

"I assure you I haven't done any such thing," Brandon replied. "I have every intention of getting him the meeting he wants, I just plan on doing it after you've had a chance to make a deal with the Skagossons."

Rickard winced at the thought of dealing with the Islanders. While technically the Houses of Crowl, Magnar and Stane were sworn vassals of his, the North had very little interaction with their people.

The Skagosi call themselves Stoneborn, and as a people they were large in size, hairy in body and slow in the mind. Due to their poor hygiene and raider-like lifestyle, the majority of Westeros saw them as no better than the Wildlings that lived across the Wall. As a result of this hate, the Skagosi kept mostly to themselves.

"At least tell me the Skaggs don't know what these stones are worth."

"They don't," Brandon answered with confidence, though he seemed hesitant to continue."But I doubt monetary compensation will be enough for us to get the stone from them. The Skagosi still live in caves, so gold would have little to no value for them."

"Than what else could we give them?," Rickard asked curiously.

Brandon winced at the question, knowing full well his father would be furious at his suggestion.

"Their freedom," he answered with a grimace. "Despite what many think about them, the Islanders are a proud people and even now they chafe at serving another House. I'm confident the Skagosi will give us all the stone we need if we promise to grant them their independence."

When the thunderous refusal never came, Brandon looked towards his father in surprise and saw the older man calmly contemplating the idea.

"That could work," Rickard replied, still thinking through the suggestion. "We could throw in some supplies, maybe give them an offer of steady trade or just provide them food to sweeten the deal, but it should be enough to get us what we want."

"Really?" Brandon asked in surprise. "You would be willing to grant Skagos it's independence?"

Rickard snorted loudly at his son's startled expression. "I'm not stupid, lad. The Skagosi may be considered part of the North, but I know it's nothing but lip service on the part of the Houses that control the Islands. They don't send us any taxes and since I doubt they would ever answer a call to banners, we lose nothing by granting them their sovereignty."

Much to his father's amusement, Brandon fist pumped several times in the air. "If you're done celebrating, lad, perhaps we could get back to what you have in mind for Winterfell."

Brandon nodded his head quickly and said, "Of course, father. The new walls of Winterfell will measure a hundred and fifty feet for the outer walls and two hundred feet for the inner ones. The enlarged interior of the Castle will now give us the room we need to make significant changes to every building.

Since the previous builders never gave thought to flatten the land, that's the first thing we will do. The even terrain will not only make sure that all the new towers are of equal size, but it will also allow us to properly use every square inch of the inner grounds.

Once the grounds are clear, at the very heart of the Castle there will be five towers that form a large X facing the Hunter's gate in the west and winter town in the east. The four towers that make up the top and bottom of this formation will each be three hundred and fifty feet in height and three hundred feet in diameter. The Lord's tower that sits in the center, will be the largest at four hundred and fifty feet in height and three hundred and fifty feet in diameter. Much like with Moat Cailin, each of the outer towers will be connected by stone bridges to the Lord's tower, a hundred and fifty feet off the ground."

Rickard whistled loudly through his teeth at the thought of such buildings. Having been to Harrenhal in his youth, he knew what his son was planning would easily surpass any of the towers that could be found there.

"Damn. You're not trying to recreate Harrenhal, you're trying to surpass it."

Brandon grinned proudly at his father and said, "That's exactly what I aim to do. The largest tower in Harrenhal is the Lord's tower at three hundred feet and all of Winterfell's towers will be larger than that."

"I don't know whether to be impressed by your audacity, lad, or worried about having to climb that many steps every day."

Thanks to Alex Harris' engineering degree and historical know-how, Brandon already had an answer to this problem. Though electricity didn't exist in this world, with the right utilization of counterweighting and hydraulic power, he could easily create elevators for each tower. They would be nowhere near as fast as the modern day counterparts he'd seen in his memories, but they would definitely be better than walking up that many steps every day.

"I've already taken care of that problem, father. Each tower will have three elevators that can hold ten men each, so you won't have to worry about the stairs."

Rickard stared at his heir in disbelief. The longer this meeting went on, the more he was beginning to believe that Walys was right and his son really was Bran the Builder reborn. "And what exactly is an elevator?" he asked.

"Think of an elevator as a transportation vessel that will take you to every floor in the tower. I won't get into the technical details since it would take too long to explain, but once you enter the vessel, there will be a number of pulleys that correspond to each floor. Pulling down on a specific one will cause the elevator to rise or fall to the correct floor."

"And every tower will have one of these...elevators?"

"Yes, father. The same will hold true for the towers at Moat Cailin since it's the only other holdfast that will have buildings tall enough to require them."

While Rickard was certainly impressed with the new device, the existence of the elevators made the stone bridges superfluous to him. "Then why do we even need to make these bridges, lad? Wouldn't it be easier to just walk to each tower and take the elevator?"

When he pictured the bridges in his mind, Brandon knew exactly why they were necessary.

"Besides the fact that they would be able to provide us with several snow and ice-free walkways during the winter, the bridges are not only aesthetically pleasing to look at, but their presence is an excellent example of House Stark's ingenuity and wealth. As an added bonus, whenever someone uses them, the glass panels that make up the upper third of the bridge wall on either side, will give the person an excellent view of the entire Castle grounds."

"You intend to use that much glass on a bridge? Is that even safe to do?"

Brandon snorted in amusement at the question and replied, "Glass is nothing more than overheated sand, father, so we don't have to worry about how much we use. As for it being safe, as long as the panels are thick enough, everything will be fine."

When he was certain his father didn't have any more questions, Brandon continued, "With the remainder of the space that we'll have available to us, a two-story Stable will be built against the south-west wall, big enough to house eighteen hundred horses. Adjacent to it there will be a covered track, that will be used to exercise the horses during the Winter.

In the south-east corner of the Castle, a new Grand Hall will be built. The three-story structure will have a roof made of glass and will be capable of holding fifteen hundred people on the ground floor and another five hundred each for the second and third stories. Directly above it, there will be room for a kitchen that's easily twice as big as the one we have now.

Against the north-east wall where the entrance to the family crypt is, we will build a small garden full of Winter Roses, Frostfires, Lady's Lace, and Nightshades, at the heart of which will be a small Septa. Around the garden there will dozens of apple, pear and plum trees, all of which will grow well in the cold weather.

Directly across from the garden and next to the Godswood, the dozen Glass Gardens I plan to create will rest against the wall. With the farmable land we now have in use at Crofter's Village, these Glass Gardens will be repurposed to solely grow the various crops and spices we import from Yi-Ti.

The final building I plan to create for the refurbished Winterfell will be a large theatre that will be placed along the western wall.

In all of the Stark holdings, the walls and towers will be made of black Skag stones, while the interior of each building will have white Skag as the floors. The outer courtyards of our new holdfasts will no longer be made of dirt, tiles and stuffed hay, but of proper stone bricks made of grey Skag."

For the most part, Rickard was thrilled with the new changes and it showed with the grin that now adorned his face. What threw him off was the final building his son mentioned. "A theatre, Bran?"

Brandon could see the surprise on his father's face and replied, "Yes, father, a theatre. Once Winterfell is rebuilt, I aim to bring in musicians, playwrights, and even mummer groups to live in Winter Town. Once a month they can take turns to entertain the residents of the Castle, while the rest of the time they can use the theatre in the town to entertain the small folk."

"There is no theatre in Winter Town, lad."

"There isn't one now, but eventually there will be."

"I still don't understand. Why do want to spend so much time and money on a theatre of all things?"

"For entertainment and public morale," Brandon replied with a shrug of his shoulders. "Just because we live in a harsh land, doesn't mean we can't take the time to enjoy life every once in awhile. A thing as simple as this will bring a small measure of joy to the smallfolk and the happier they are, the harder they will work at their jobs. This, in turn, will benefit the economy of the North, which directly leads to more money in our coffers."

Rickard shook his head at the thought of people just sitting around wasting the day at a theatre. This was a perfect example of why he believed his son was the right person to lead the North to a new life. He was too set in his ways to see the benefits of a change such as this, but thankfully his heir was not.

Once he stopped thinking about the frivolous, or at least in his mind they were so, changes his son wanted to make, the Lord of House Stark returned his attention to the new layout of Winterfell.

The walls alone were enough for him to eagerly wish the construction of the Castle was already complete, but sadly he didn't believe he would live long enough to see it done. Harrenhal took thirty years to build, and that was just one Castle. With all the other projects his son had in mind, he would be grateful to see even one or two of his heir's plans come to fruition.

"So where do we start, lad? I doubt I'll live long enough to see everything you have planned get finished, but I would wish to see as much as I can before I pass."

This time it was Brandon's turn to blink in surprise. "You have nothing to fear, father because I aim to see everything finished within the next twenty years."

"That's impossible, Bran," Rickard exclaimed. "Winterfell and Black Harbor alone would be enough to take several lifetimes to finish."

Brandon knew his father was thinking of Harrenhal when he said this and he couldn't help but snort in disgust at the thought. Harren the Black had a vision to build the greatest castle the world had ever seen, and while there is no doubt that he succeeded, as far as Brandon was concerned the execution of his dream was poorly done.

Between the small folk that were loyal to him and the slaves he acquired to serve under his banner, all told Harren had close to three hundred and fifty thousand people working to make his dream a reality. Unfortunately, he did little to keep his workforce fresh and strong.

According to what Brandon was able to find at the Citadel, Harren worked his people to death on several occasions and lost many more due to the poor sanitation around the campsites. His belief in replacing the dead with even more slaves was but a placeholder for the larger problem, which was the lack of food and rest the people needed to remain strong throughout the construction process.

His rising cruelty in the response to the perceived inefficiency of his workers, only made things worse. Had the idiot provided proper rest and sustenance for his workers, Brandon was sure he could have reduced the construction time by two decades.

"It can be done with a judicious use of resources and manpower."

The answer was vague enough for Rickard to question it. "I don't understand, lad."

"The North has roughly six million people that live in it, the majority of whom are small folk. If we plan things right, by the time we're ready to begin construction, we could easily have a workforce large enough to cover every holdfast at the same time. As long as we provide the workers with proper lodging, full stomachs and pay them on time, they will gladly do the work we need for them to do."

"Do you even realize how many people you're talking about, son? We would never be able to feed and house them properly."

"We will if we start planning for it right now, father," Brandon answered confidently.

"Then, by all means, boy, tell me how you will do it."

"First, I have a question. How do you plan on getting back to the North? Considering how quickly you arrived here, I assume you came by ship."

Rickard nodded his head and replied, "With the war still going on between the Ninepenny Kings and the Iron Throne, I didn't think it was safe to travel down the Shivering Sea at this time. I came by horse from the North and then took a ship from Lord Mallister in Seagard. I plan to take the same route back."

"That works out perfectly for what I need you to do," Brandon said with a smirk.

"What exactly would that be?," Rickard asked, slightly amused at taking orders from his still knee-high heir.

"While you're at Seagard you will need to make a deal with Lord Mallister to find as many Aurochs as he can and ship them to Sea Wolf Point."

Rickard stared at his son, unsure what he was supposed to be making a deal for. "What the hell are Aurochs, boy?"

Brandon wasn't surprised by the question. Despite being a native animal of Westeros, Aurochs were hunted to near extinction long ago. Nowadays most people in the Seven Kingdoms confused the domesticated cows for their wild ancestors.

In truth, Aurochs were a full hand taller than a normal cow and easily twice as strong as an ox. Unfortunately, the only place still inhabited by these wild beasts are the lands between the Green Fork of the Trident and the Hags Mire near Seagard.

Considering Seagard's close proximity to their grazing grounds, Brandon was hoping Lord Mallister would be willing and able to capture these beasts for the North.

When he saw Rickard patiently waiting for his answer, Brandon replied, "Aurochs are the perfect beasts of burden we will need in the North. With their strength and endurance, they will be ideal to move the stones and other equipment we need them to, at each construction site. Eventually, when their current purpose is done, they can be sent to the Umbers and with their tougher hides, be used to make leather armor."

"Alright, lad," Rickard said with a hesitant nod of his head. "That shouldn't be a problem."

"The second thing you will need to do is go to Skagos Island and make a deal with them. The amount of stone we will require for each holdfast means the Skagossasans will need every day of the next two years to get us enough stone to start construction at all sites."

Rickard sighed deeply at the thought of dealing with the three Houses that ruled over the Islands. "That will be harder to do, but I'll get it done, lad."

Brandon sympathized with what his father would need to do over the next few months, but sadly as the Head of House Stark, only he could make all of this happen.

"Once you get back to Winterfell you will need to take control of Crofters Village. If we can clear out the trees around the lakes quick enough, we can start farming the land right away and stockpile what we grow for when the small folk eventually arrive."

Rickard's face took a hard edge at the thought of the unused land and he quickly nodded his head in agreement.

"The next step will be to invite grandfather Alric to Winterfell and get him to start gathering wood for the Braavos trade."

"Alric will be expecting the money right away, Bran. Without the gold mines our coffers will take a hit."

"I know, father," Brandon reluctantly agreed. "But if I'm right, we should have enough money saved up to pay for everything we need for at least ten years. We just need to dip into our reserves for half that time and by then the Golden Fang will have been built. Once the gold mines become active, we won't have to use our reserves anymore."

After a moment's hesitation, Rickard grudgingly agreed to the timeline."As long as we don't have to wait for more than five years for the gold mines to become active, using what's in our coffers won't be too bad. Anything else you need me to do?"

Brandon shook his head in answer. "With those tasks complete, we won't need to do anything until just before things are ready to begin. If you send out Ravens to all the Northern Houses six months before construction begins, that should be plenty of time for us to send out teams to set up tents, temporary kitchens and dig up latrines at each site. As soon as the small folk start trickling in, we send them straight away to one of the sites.

I'll make sure to finish my work at the Citadel around the same time, and with Syrio's help, I can hire extra blacksmiths, carpenters and other craftsmen we will need from Pentos and Braavos on my way home."

While Rickard nodded his head eagerly at the plan, he noticed his son was still hesitant about something. "What aren't you telling me, lad?"

"The craftsmen we hire won't be enough, father," Brandon replied with a sigh. "Twenty years is a long time and with how little the world thinks of the North, I doubt we will be able to convince many to move there for good. Presently Syrio assures me he can convince three Master Blacksmiths, each with two apprentices a piece to permanently move to the North, as well as a dozen Stone Masons and half that number in Carpenters. That still won't be enough to teach the unskilled small folk what they need to know for the construction process to run smoothly."

As he thought of his son's words, Rickard couldn't help but agree. No matter how many men they had working at each site, if they weren't properly guided on what to do, their presence may as well be useless. "I agree with you, lad, but what else can we do?"

Brandon took a deep breath and replied, "Buy the extra craftsman we need from Slaver's Bay. While none of the men or women we purchase will be Masters of their craft, they will at the very least be trained to apprentice level in their given field. It will be expensive, but I would like for us to buy at least four hundred slaves spread out evenly between stonemasons, carpenters, blacksmiths, and farmhands. As well as a dozen winemakers, fifty artisans, and fifty tutors."

Rickard arched an eyebrow at his son's casual suggestion to purchase slaves. "You want me to buy over five hundred slaves, boy? You do realize slavery has been abolished in the Seven Kingdoms for quite some time, right?"

"Yes, father, I want you to buy slaves and I'm well aware Westeros does not allow for slavery anymore. As soon as they reach the North, we will free them and offer them the same lodging and wages we will be giving the small folk that arrive for construction. By freeing them and then paying them fair wages, I have no doubt these men and women will remain loyal to our House and readily agree to start their new lives on our lands."

Once he was assured his heir hadn't suddenly lost his mind, Rickard leaned back into his seat. "I understand the need for most of the slaves you want to buy, but why do you want tutors?"

Brandon matched his father's gaze with his own and thought about how he should respond to the question.

"Are you familiar with the Unsullied, father?"

"Aye, boy," Rickard answered with a growl that easily portrayed his disgust. "They are warrior-eunuchs, trained and sold by Astapor, Yunkai, and Meereen at Slaver's Bay. I haven't fought any of them myself, but they're said to be some of the greatest fighters in the world."

Brandon nodded his head in agreement. "Syrio told me about them awhile back, and he admits they are some of the most skilled people he's ever fought. They start their training at five name days and for a full decade they work themselves ragged from dawn to dusk every day, learning multiple forms of combat. It's said their training is so brutal, only one out of five makes it out alive."

Rickard was well aware of this and despised the thought of anyone, let alone children being forced to live such a life. In the North, where honor was valued more than anywhere else in Westeros, the thought of treating a child in such a manner was revolting to most.

"What's your point, lad? Do you want to buy and free these Unsullied too?"

Is much as he would love to do so, Brandon shook his head and said, "No, father. At any given time, there are anywhere between eight and ten thousand Unsullied at Slaver's Bay and as much as I would like to help those men, the cost to do so would be beyond what are coffers could afford right now. Instead, I want to buy the recruits who have begun their training, but have yet to be cut."

Rickard gave an involuntary shudder at the thought. "That means we'll get them before they lose their manhood, right?"

"Aye. Unlike with Astapor and Yunkai, the bastards in Meereen don't do the cutting till the boy's tenth name day. If we target the ones that are close to but haven't reached that age, since their training is only partially complete, we should be able to get a significant reduction in their price. If I'm not mistaken, we could easily purchase up to a thousand of them, for the same price we would pay for the craftsman."

"By the gods, boy. Why a thousand?" Rickard exclaimed.

Brandon couldn't help but smirk at his father's shocked expression. So far this conversation had gone far better than he'd ever hoped for. Not only did Rickard not hesitate at the thought of granting the Skagossans their independence, but now he was willing to purchase slaves. Granted they were going to free them the moment they reached the North, but he still expected his father to balk at the thought of even buying them in the first place.

"For two reasons," Brandon answered. "The first is because you can only purchase the Unsullied by the thousand. In rare cases, the slavers at Astapor have made exceptions for preferred clients, but for the rest, it's a thousand or nothing. Now this may not hold true given the slaves we are buying are still considered recruits, but it's safe to assume the greedy masters will stick to their second reason is because I hope to use these recruits to train the others."

"What others, boy?"

"With the number of new holdfasts we are creating, we will need more men to guard them than the five thousand we currently have at Winterfell. Because of this, I plan to create a new fighting force for our House, one that's separated into three distinct units. The Wolf Guard will become the new men at arms for each Stark holdfast. The Sea Wolves will be trained specifically for the Northern navy. And a heavy cavalry unit, called the Wolfpack, will be split between Winterfell and Moat Cailin.

Once construction begins at each of the sites, I want to recruit children between the ages of eight and twelve and train them myself. In return for food, lodging, and steady pay, they will be taught sword fighting, riding, hunting, tracking, geography, as well as their letters and numbers. Depending on what they are good at, they would eventually be split into one of the three forces. Every few moons these recruits will be evaluated on their progress, and only the best of them will move. Those that fail to improve will be dismissed and allowed to return to their former lives as small folk."

"I understand the need for new men at arms, but why waste money teaching them to read and write? And why are you training these kids? Shouldn't Ser Rodrik being doing that?"

Brandon just barely managed to prevent himself from growling at Rickard's short-sightedness. "Because, father, a single well-trained soldier that can think for himself when needed, is worth more than a dozen idiots that only know how to swing a sword at the enemy. As for why I want to train them, do you recall the letter I sent you about the sword style I am working on?"

When he heard Rickard grunt in confirmation, Brandon continued, "It's complete. According to Syrio it's the perfect blend of the Westerosi style we currently use and the precision based attacks seen with Water Dancing. The only reason I'm unable to win our spars right now is because Syrio is a man grown and I lack the strength and speed to match him."

"What's to become of Ser Rodrik and our current men at arms in your new army?" Rickard asked, not wanting to dismiss men who have been loyal to him for so many years.

"That would depend on you, father. Would you be willing to grant Martyn Cassel a Lordship?"

Rickard was taken aback by the question. House Cassel served his family without fail for countless generations and he would gladly trust any member of the House with his life. "Aye. I would, lad, but where would he be a lord of? I thought all the new holdfasts you were creating would be for House Stark alone."

"The five I already mentioned are for our House alone," Brandon replied. "But there is another one I have in mind that could be given to House Cassel. Unfortunately, the time it will take to build the holdfasts for our House, will mean we couldn't start on this one until the others are mostly completed."

"Where exactly would this new holdfast be?," the Lord Paramount asked curiously.

Brandon pointed a finger down at the map and said, "Right here, before the White Knife splits in two. We have Black Harbor and Wolfswood Port to prevent any incursions from the west coast, but in the east all we have is White Harbor. This holdfast would act as a second deterrent, and if we give it to House Cassel, we can send three thousand of our current men at arms with them. Of the two thousand that we have remaining, we keep five hundred to act as guards for the new Winter Town, while the remainder can be sent to Lord Manderly to fill out the Wolf's Den, with our pledge to help renovate it for him."

Rickard's eyes widened in surprise at the suggestion. He knew Wyman Manderly would be thrilled to have a castle like the Wolf's Den back at full strength, and with House Cassel boasting so many men at arms, he would have yet another loyal vassal available for House Stark. The only thing that gave him pause to this plan, was how House Cassel would be able to afford the upkeep of so many men."

"How the hell is Martyn supposed to support all those men?"

As much as he didn't want to lie to his father, Brandon couldn't explain why he knew how to make Whiskey, Vodka and assorted types of beers. The first two spirits didn't even exist on Planetos and it would take him time to "invent" them in the future.

In the end, he replied, "I haven't come up with anything yet, but I promise you I will think of something by the time we start building this holdfast."

After everything he'd seen from his heir today, Rickard grudgingly nodded his head. "I trust you, boy. I know you will think of something for Martyn and Rodrik."

"Thank you," Brandon replied, the pride he felt in his father's trust evident to any who could see him.

Rickard spent a few minutes staring down at the map, trying to imagine how his son could possibly complete all the holdfasts in such a short time. "Exactly how many small folk are you expecting to show up, lad?"

Brandon thought about the question before answering. Though it pained him to say it, work for small folk was even harder to come by in the North, than it was in the South. It's a major reason why despite being a third the size of Westeros, there were several kingdoms that could match and even surpass the North's population.

For all that he was planning, soon enough there would be work aplenty for everyone. They just needed to make sure the small folk were aware of these new opportunities.

"With the promise of steady food and coin for several years, we should attract at least five hundred thousand workers at the start of construction."

Rickard whistled softly at the number. "That's a lot of people, boy. Wouldn't they just get in each other's way?"

"Not if we separate them into groups of twenty thousand and limit each group to an eight-hour shift," Brandon replied. "That way the workers are constantly fresh, and construction can continue without any stoppage."

Father and son soon became lost in their own thoughts. For the first time in several millennia, the North had a chance to become something special and the pair would do everything in their power to make that dream become a reality.

* * *

 **262: Quill and Tankard(Oldtown):**

As he sat at his private table, with the curtains open, Brandon sipped on the watered down wine in his hand and watched from around his guards as the rest of the tavern's guests partook in song and drink. As of late, people watching had become a hobby of his and there was no better place to do it in Oldtown than the famous Quill and Tankard tavern. And best yet, after years of practice, the foreign scents and sounds no longer a hindrance to him.

Normally he would not have wasted his time in such a manner, but today was a day of celebration. Not only did he forge the last of his chosen links with the Maesters, but the true reason for his being in the South was finally complete.

Less than a week ago the last of the tombs he'd taken from the Citadel had been copied by his servants. Much like he promised his father when Rickard made his visit, Brandon was ready to depart Oldtown a full six moons ahead of schedule.

Though it irked him that he wasn't able to copy everything like he wanted, Brandon was thankful to at least be able to read through the select tombs he was missing. Not only was he able to make notes on any relevant information that he found in the Archmaesters private library, but one of these treasures even mentioned the Long Night and the battle with the Others.

According to the ancient tomb, the army of man that stood against the creatures of Ice, did so with the power of the Children of the Forest at their backs. While the tomb was written centuries after the fact, it did mention two things that turned the tide of battle against the Others. Wildfire, made more devastating by the Children's Magic, and Obsidian.

With the absence of the Children more than a millennia back, Brandon wasn't sure how effective wildfire alone would be. Briefly, he wondered how the White Walker's ice magic would have dealt with dragon fire, but with the death of the last Dragon long ago, that thought was fairly useless. In the end, Obsidian was the best chance for man's survival and it could still be found in large quantities at Dragonstone. Once his plans for the North were fully underway, Brandon would have to consider how to trade for the material from the King.

Luckily Syrio was also pleased with the early departure. Ever since he showed the Bravo his Ilysis Abra, the two spent all their time giving it shape. All though Brandon already knew all the katas associated with the sword style, he still had to take his time revealing them to his master, so that Syrio would believe that he was actually creating the style on his own. This, in turn, gave the Bravo a chance to suggest his own additions to the forms, which truth be told made the style even better in Brandon's eyes.

Once Brandon showed his teacher the completed Ilysis Abra, the past year was spent only sparring with Syrio. The two gave up all pretense of him learning Water Dancing and much to Brandon's delight, used their time together to give him the experience he needed to master the style for himself.

Though he had yet to beat his master in a single spar, the future First Sword assured Brandon that was only due to his age. While his words were a source of comfort for the young Lord, it didn't mean he was happy with his continuous failure. He looked forward to the day he was a man grown and could challenge his master on the basis of skill alone.

Still, his rapid advancement with the "new dance" was enough for Syrio to declare he no longer needed his teachings. The Bravo would have already returned home, if not for his promise to help Brandon hire the men he would need for his plans in the North.

Thankfully the pair would not have to wait too much longer for their departure. In two days they would finally depart Oldtown on the ships his father hired from Lord Manderly. If all worked according to plan, in less than four moons Brandon would be home with his family.

The Stark heir was pulled from his reverie, as soon as he noticed a commotion with one of his guards. Jensen Cassel was the eldest son of Martyn Cassel and someone Brandon had come to trust during his time at the Citadel. The young guard was preventing a robed figure from approaching his table.

Before he could think to ask what the problem was a woman's voice called out to him, "Please, my Lord. I only wish a moment of your time."

His curiosity made Brandon nod his head towards Jensen. "Release her please, Jensen, and draw the curtain to give us some privacy."

"My Lord, she is a stranger," the boy of nine and ten replied, while still glaring at the robed woman. "Please let me stay with you."

Brandon almost rolled his eyes at the guard's over-protectiveness. Young though he may be, much like the rest of his family, Jensen took his oaths to House Stark seriously. While he did not wish to insult such devotion for some random stranger, based on his recent experiences with the various Houses sworn to House Hightower, the woman was most likely a daughter of some minor House.

"That will not be necessary, Jensen. Please remain outside and warn the others that I am not to be disturbed until this conversation is over."

No sooner were the curtains drawn, did the robed woman pull down her hood. With shoulder length hair of silver and gold and eyes as bright as the sea, the woman could easily pass as a Targaryen bastard. A breathtakingly beautiful one.

The opening of her robe allowed Brandon to see the translucent nightgown she wore beneath it. If it weren't for the fact that he hadn't even reached his eighth name day yet, he might have appreciated the site of the woman's creamy white breasts and perky nipples.

Barely a moon into his arrival at the Citadel, Brandon had been inundated with requests for dinner from several minor Houses, all in the hopes of creating a betrothal between him and one of their daughters. While he'd been forced to endure the awkward advances of these girls, even some who approached twice his age, none had come before him so brazenly as the young woman in front of him.

"How may I help you my Lady?" Brandon asked, suddenly curious as to which house she belonged to.

"My apologies, my Lord, but I am not a Lady," the blonde replied. "My name is Alys and I am a slave from Lys. I arrived here with my master three nights ago."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at her reply. The presence of a slave peaked his curiosity even further. Though slavery no longer existed in Westeros, slaves could still be found in port towns like Oldtown. However, they almost never roamed free without their masters. "Very well then, Alys, what can I do for your Master?"

When the woman didn't answer right away, Brandon quickly realized why. The reason was evident by the tightening of fists upon her skirt and the brief look of fear that flashed across her cerulean eyes.

"I see. Your reasons for being here must not serve your master's interests. I admit you've peaked my curiosity. Speak freely, Alys. I would know why you have come to me."

Alys' heart raced as she thought of what she was about to do. If her master ever learned of this night, she wouldn't be the only one who suffered his wrath. Her two boys would also pay the price for her failure and that was something she would not allow to happen.

A slave she may be, but she would do anything to protect her children. But it wasn't until her recent arrival in Oldtown, did she find a way to change her family's future. And it all hinged on the young Lord in front her.

"You...you are correct, my Lord," Alys replied with a worried stutter. "I am not here for my master, but for myself and my children. I have recently learned of your plans to buy craftsman from Slaver's Bay and since you are a Stark, I assume you will free them once you arrive in the North. I would ask that you do the same for myself and my children. In return...I can offer you my former master's greatest treasure."

Brandon was instantly alert by the blonde slave's knowledge of his plans. He and his father had gone through great pains to keep their actions a secret from the south. They'd even spent a substantial amount to hire Syrio's Qartheen friend to act as a middleman, so no one could connect the purchased slaves to the North.

While father and son were well aware they couldn't keep their secrets hidden forever, that didn't mean they wouldn't try to do so for as long as possible. For now, the North was all but forgotten by the rest of Westeros, but should any of the Great Houses learn of the changes the Starks wanted to bring to their lands, it wouldn't take long for them to draw the Mad King's attention. For good or ill, that was something Brandon definitely wanted to avoid.

"I find it curious, Alys, that you are aware of plans only a handful of people even knew about. I wish to know how you have this knowledge."

Despite the young wolf's age, Alys couldn't help but shiver at the boy's ice-cold tone. Even without saying it, the threat to her life hung in the air and she prayed to the gods her offer was good enough, or else she'd doomed both herself and her children.

"I have lived my whole life as a slave, my Lord," Alys answered calmly. "Though not one of his bastards, my mother was a frequent bed warmer of my former master. For some reason he saw something in me and purchased me at a young age from the brothel I was born in. At first I thought I was to replace my mother in his bed, but instead, he used me for other purposes."

"And what purposes would those be?" Brandon asked, still unsure whether he could let this woman live.

"In his youth, my master dreamed of one day joining the Conclave of Magisters and becoming one of the ruling elite of Lys. Though a highly successful and influential merchant, his wealth wasn't impressive enough to draw the attention of the Magisters. Over the years he spent most of his profits building a spy network that now spans all throughout Westeros and Essos. He hoped to one day barter his knowledge for a seat on the Conclave and if not for his heart failing on him half a moon ago, he very well would have succeeded in his dream. My master's spy network may not be as extensive as the one controlled by the Master of Whispers at the Royal court, but his people were much better placed, allowing for a greater detail in the information they provided."

"While this is certainly an interesting tale, why bring this to me?" Brandon asked warily.

"Because, my Lord, my former master kept his network a secret from everyone, including my new master, his son, and heir. In my youth, I helped recruit many of the spies that work for the network, and now I alone know of its existence."

As he leaned back in his chair and stared at the beauty in front of him, Brandon didn't know what to think. On one hand he was being offered a gift that could help the North in ways he couldn't even imagine right now, on the other this could be a trap that ruined everything he hoped to accomplish."

"If what you say is true, why tell me? Why not tell your new master about the network?"

Alys took a deep breath before replying. Her whole future and that of her children relied upon this gamble.

"My current master...is not a smart man," Alys answered hesitantly. "Unlike his father, he's never had a good head for the merchant life. In the past three years he's already lost several of the businesses his father gave to him as a gift and now his debts have been called due. Unfortunately, due to the large fortune his father spent on creating the spy network, his inheritance was not what he was expecting. In the half moon since his father's death, my new master has already begun to sell that which he deems unworthy of being in his possession. From what I was able to learn from the whores I provide to warm his bed, this now includes my children. Before returning home, he plans to sell my children to the slave master's at Astapor and I do not wish for them to become Unsullied."

As she paused to gather breath, Alys' fear and anxiety grew in leaps and bounds. Even with the training she received during her own brief turn as a spy, the slave woman was unable to discern any of the thoughts or feelings the young Lord had to her tale. Given how expressionless his face was, it may as well have been carved from stone.

"Up until two nights ago, I could not see a way to save my sons from their fate," the blonde slave continued. "Even revealing the network's existence would not have helped me to save my family. My master's debts are many and he is not known to be a patient man. It was only by the luck of the gods did I overhear a Braavosi inform some Qartheen merchant of your plans. It took some time for me to find the young Lord they were talking about, but here I am, begging you to help me save my sons."

As he gathered his thoughts, Brandon idly tapped his fingers against the wooden table. "Pray tell, why do you think I would have need of your services, Alys?"

Alys took a deep breath before answering truthfully. "While searching for who you are, my Lord, it didn't take long for my people to learn about the boy genius studying with the Maesters at the Citadel. Your intelligence alone marks you as someone of importance, but your being the future Lord Paramount of the North makes it doubly so. Based on the fact that you are intending to purchase so many craftsmen, I can only assume you have plans to change the North. The fact that you have hired a Qartheen merchant as a middleman, means you want to keep these changes a secret for as long as possible. I can help you do just that."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at the claim. The blonde's deductive skills showed a remarkable intelligence, but if she could truly keep his secrets from the south, the woman would be worth her weight in gold. "And how exactly can you do that?"

Almost instantly, Alys withdrew something from her robe and placed it on the table. Nearly six inches in length, the wooden device had intricately carved runes on it and was without a doubt an exquisite piece of woodwork. "With this, my Lord."

"What is this?" Brandon asked as he stared down at the mahogany piece of wood.

"In his youth, my master found this during one of his trips to Volantis," Alys answered. "At the time the merchant claimed it was a dragon whistle, so he bought it as a lark. I have no clue if it can actually summon dragons, but I do know that no Raven can resist its call."

Brandon picked up the whistle in his hand, his fingers caressing the smooth wooden finish. If the claims were true, the device he held was the key to keeping House Stark's plans a secret from the South. Any Raven coming into or out of the North would have to pass through the Neck to do so and with this whistle he could ensure only those messages that he wanted would pass through.

All that remained was deciding if he could trust the messenger. With a final glance into the blonde woman's worried eyes, he came to a decision. "I don't trust you, Alys."

The moment she heard those words, Alys felt her world begin to crumble around her. Just when her fears over her children were about to overwhelm her, they were stayed by the words that followed.

"I don't trust you. You willingly come before me and admit to betraying your master. However...I do understand a woman's desire to protect her children. What you have offered me is not something that can be cast aside easily. So I will agree to your terms and give you the chance to earn my trust. Know this though, for as long as you remain loyal to me, I will gladly return it in kind. But the day you fail to do so..."

The threat may not have been finished, but the look in her new Lord's eyes was enough to make Alys beware such a fate. "I swear by the Old Gods and the New, I won't betray you, my Lord."

"Very well," Brandon replied with a smirk. "On the morrow, you and your children shall become the new servants of House Stark."

* * *

 **Casting:**

Rickard Stark: Karl Urban

Anna Stark: Jamie Alexander

Maester Walys: Woody Allen

Brandon Stark: Chris Hemsworth(young)

Syrio Forel: Ben Kingsley(young)

Jensen Cassel: Liam Aiken

Alys: Scarlett Johansson


	2. A Desert Rose for A Direwolf

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but real life got in the way. I hope you enjoy the chapter and I look forward to any comments you may have!**

 **Chapter 2: A Desert Rose for A Direwolf**

 **270: Manderly Ship(North):**

As he flowed through his katas, Brandon was fully enveloped in the void. Though aware of the waves crashing down around him, he ignored them to continue his training. Every morning and every night he dedicated a minimum of three hours to improving his skills, splitting time equally between blade work, running and the Earth-style weights he had the blacksmiths make for him and his men. The fruits of his labor were now apparent on his heavily muscled frame. Having recently celebrated his fifteenth name day, at 6'1" he looked a man grown.

In the seven years since his return to the North, there was little if any time for Brandon to have for himself. Despite already being in White Harbor at the time, due to his duties he still wasn't able to get to Winterfell in time for his little sister, Lyanna's birth. It was a decision he didn't make lightly, but sadly one that had to be done.

His arrival to White Harbor coincided with that of the recently purchased slaves and much as he predicted to his Head of House, they were ecstatic to be free. With his hired craftsman from Bravos and Pentos also present, it didn't take long for him to choose a foreman for each construction site and separate the newly freed men and women to their assigned destination.

The early weeks during his stay with the Manderlys at New Castle, Brandon was most often seen huddled together with various masters informing them about his plans for each holdfast. Thanks to Alex's engineering degree and his avid interest in history, Brandon had knowledge of numerous types of architecture, which he used to amaze the chosen foremen with his designs.

The plans Brandon shared with everyone had a mix of both ancient and modern Earth ideas. With his introduction of copper pipes to move potable water, each holdfast would not only have access to indoor plumbing but with the new water tanks he intended to put in, they would also have a steady stream of heated water. As an added bonus, these changes allowed him to move on from the horrid bedpans he'd been forced to use all these years and instead replace them with toilet seats made of porcelain. The inclusion of a properly created sewage system from the very beginning would ensure no Stark holding would ever bare the smell of shit permeating through the air.

While technically he could have added indoor showers for everyone as well, Brandon reserved that privilege for the select few that would live in the Castles. For the rest of the small folk, he created plans for large Roman style bath houses they could use, for which House Stark would charge a very nominal fee for their service. Together these changes would not only allow the masses to become more sanitary, but it would also allow them time to socialize and for a short period of time each day, forget their worries.

To make sure there was plenty of fresh water for everyone to use, the foreman at each holdfast was provided blueprints for a series of aqueducts connected to Long Lake, the White Knife River and the larger of the two lakes near Wolfswood port. Meanwhile, for Winterfell and Black Harbor, the respective foremen were also given plans for a chain of apartment complexes which would be used to house the small folk. At Black Harbor, these apartments would take up the rear third of the city, while at Winterfell they would be built across the road from the new Winter Town.

Thanks to Xander's in-depth knowledge of construction, Brandon knew the secret behind making cement. Once mixed with sand, gravel, and water, it would be the ideal source for concrete. Buildings made of concrete were cheap and easy to create, while still providing an excellent source of housing for the less privileged. When winter eventually came around, the small folk would be well insulated against the freezing cold, which in turn should mean a decrease in the number of deaths that occurred.

While creating these designs in his final months at Oldtown, Brandon realized if someone ever dared to attack his ancestral home, it would leave the small folk outside completely defenseless. For this reason, he chose to build the town on one side of the Kingsroad leading up to the castle, while the small folk apartments would be built on the opposite side, surrounded by eighty-foot walls.

The last of the ideas that Brandon shared with everyone, was a replica of the Colosseum that would sit adjacent to Winterfell. The oval-shaped building would mimic exactly the dimensions of its predecessor, with a length of 615 feet, a width of 510 feet and a height of 164 feet. Made completely out of white Skag stone, the structure would take up nearly six acres of land and would be able to house sixty thousand people with ease. Much like with the original, Brandon even added designs for a tarp attached to a series of pulleys to cover the opening when needed.

While for the most part the massive amphitheater would be used by various mummers, musicians, and playwrights that would eventually be invited to live in Winter Town, Brandon also had another use for the Colosseum in his mind.

In the future, Brandon wanted to introduce a mixture of the Olympic games from Earth and the tourneys that occurred in the South. Every three years there would be contests for archery, horseback riding, hand to hand combat and the main event of the games, the sword fights. The winner of the final contest would even earn the title of Blade of the North. The main difference between what he planned for the games and what the southerners currently used in their tourneys, was the weapons involved would be blunted.

The games were intended to provide a safe venue for young warriors to showcase their skills and Brandon didn't want to lose a gifted man or woman to a useless accident. It was better for them to feel the pain of losing, while still being alive to learn from their mistakes. In the south, the tournaments were less about a contest of skills and more a way for the various Lords to sate their desire to see blood. Death was far too common at these events and many a skilled young Knight perished before ever reaching his full potential.

During his time in Oldtown Brandon knew the majority of Westeros thought of Northerners as savages, but one day he hoped they would see these games and realize which of two were truly civilized.

By the time construction was ready to begin, there was almost a palpable level of excitement from everyone involved. What surprised Brandon the most was that this sentiment was also shared by the thousand Unsullied recruits he now had under the Stark banner.

Throughout Essos the warrior eunuchs were known for their ferocity and discipline in battle, as well as their lack of self-worth outside of it. While the first two were easily evident in each of the freed children's bearing, he was pleased to see that the Slavemasters of Meereen had yet to strip them of that which made them human, their individuality.

It took a few weeks for the kids to finally accept their new lot in life, but when they did, Brandon didn't doubt for a moment their loyalty to his House. His family had given these children a chance at a new life and they accepted this gift by giving the Starks their undying loyalty in return.

That first year Brandon didn't bother with trying to swell his numbers from the small folk. Though his recruits already had sufficient training from their former masters, they still needed to be taught the Ilysis Abra and since he was the only one in the North who knew it, he alone could teach them. It took quite a bit of logistical work to move all thousand of them with him whenever he traveled, but in the end, he was so pleased with the results, the extra work was more than worth the effort.

Since Brandon spent a minimum of three months at any given location, he was able to create a modified version of the training program Alex underwent with the SEALs at Coronado Bay. Every day they would wake at dawn and spend a few hours doing intense physical exercise. Normally they would alternate between running several miles, swimming when applicable, practicing the mixed martial arts used by Navy SEALs and using the weights he had the blacksmiths create to increase their physical strength.

Following the morning exercises there would be a brief respite, during which everyone would break their fast together, giving the group a chance to form bonds with one another. To give their young bodies the proper rest they needed to grow, the time leading up to lunch was used by the tutors that traveled with the group to teach the children their letters and numbers. Brandon himself would use this time to speak to the foreman at the given location they were at and address any problems that were happening with the construction. Thankfully due to his excessive pre-planning, there were few if any problems to be had.

After lunch, the recruits would work on the skills they learned from their former masters. While on Planetos the style of fighting they used was attributed to the Ghiscari, from his memories Brandon realized the technique was virtually the same as the one used by the Roman legions of ancient Earth. Considering the Romans had conquered most of the known world, Brandon was well aware of how effective this style of fighting was for infantry troops.

But that still wasn't good enough for him. Brandon didn't want his new men at arms to be effective only when fighting together, he also wanted them to be deadly on their own. Which is why after the evening meal, he spent hours drilling each of them on his Ilysis Abra. Given their previous experience with the sword forms they already knew, the katas for the new style wasn't difficult for the children to learn. The problem came with trying to teach them the Flame and the Void technique.

Meditation was not something any of them had ever learned in their young life and Brandon was quickly made aware of how difficult it was to teach a thousand children to do so. Despite his repeated setbacks in this department, the young wolf wasn't deterred. He continued to encourage the boys to practice their meditation whenever they got a chance and by the end of the year, even if it was only for brief moments at a time, almost every one of his thousand could embrace the Void.

By the second year of construction, Brandon was ready to begin recruiting from the children of the small folk. With the promise of steady food and coin, thousands of kids initially flocked to his banner. Sadly less than half of them were willing to stay after the first three moons of intense training. To be fair, Brandon was prepared for such a thing to happen and he didn't lament too much over the loss. Though his numbers decreased by a significant amount, the kids that did stay were all poised to become excellent members of the Wolf Guard, Sea Wolves, and the Wolfpack.

The knowledge of what his training entailed quickly spread amongst the small folk, but from then on the kids who took a chance to join, were mentally prepared for the hardships they would face. Unfortunately, this meant fewer numbers during each recruitment drive, but this also led to stronger recruits who wouldn't give up so easily.

Towards the beginning of the third year, all of the North was now aware of the new construction. When the other small folk realized the opportunity of steady work now available to them, almost a hundred sixty thousand new men and women flocked to Winterfell for House Stark's patronage.

Since all of the construction sites already had plenty of workers present, Brandon decided to use this new workforce for his own needs. With his recent recruits too numerous to move between the various construction sites, Brandon used the newly hired small folk to set up two permanent training bases at Black Harbor and Moat Cailin.

As the future headquarters of the Northern Navy, Black Harbor was the ideal place to train the Sea Wolves. Located off the coast of the Sunset Sea, it had everything the recruits needed to undergo their SEAL training. As an added bonus, these children were periodically sent to assist the Braavosi shipwrights with their shipbuilding, giving them a better idea about the vessels they would one day man.

Meanwhile, the wide open lands a few miles north of Moat Cailin were perfect for the Wolf Guard and Wolfpack. There was plenty of space for the infantry and cavalry units to practice their attacks, and with the workforce now available to him, Brandon added several types of training grounds where the men could practice their infiltration and siege techniques against "enemy strongholds".

As time passed and the numbers of his child army steadily grew, the construction at all the holdfasts continued at a pace that surpassed even Brandon's expectations. By the end of the third year, the Twintails and Wolfswood port were each completed within weeks of each other. Rickard immediately assigned Martyn Cassel and his eldest son Jensen Cassel, as temporary Castellans for both locations and gave them six hundred men split evenly between each of the three castles now under Stark control.

While completion of both places brought great joy to father and son, it wasn't until the following year when the Fang was completed, did the Stark pair truly rejoice. The massive fortress that rested against the mountain pass leading to the gold mines, was without a doubt an intimidating sight to behold. Armed with dozens of catapults and scorpions along its stony ramparts, Rickard assigned his former Master at arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel as the temporary Castellan of the fort, and sent him a thousand of his best men to guard it.

With the much anticipated gold mines now ready to become active, Brandon and his father implemented the next stage of their plans for the North. Thanks to Alys' diligent work, up until this point the North managed to keep what they were doing mostly hidden from the rest of Westeros.

Alys' whistle was instrumental in ferreting out the numerous spies that existed throughout the North. In some cases where the spy was known to work alone and wouldn't be missed, the former slave chose to eliminate said man or woman and periodically sent out Ravens on the dead person's behalf. However, father and son knew all her efforts would be for not, should the revealing of the mines go poorly with the other Houses.

Without the second stage of House Stark's plans to help them, Brandon was sure his father's loyal vassals would cause such a ruckus over the mines, that even Alys couldn't contain the spread of information from reaching the various Great Houses in the South. To prevent such a thing from happening, a Raven was immediately sent to his good Uncle Joridos to begin buying the goods they planned to gift to their vassals.

A few moons after the request was sent, Brandon returned to Winterfell to help his father deal with the assembled Nobles. Despite Rickard's wish to do otherwise, Brandon convinced the man to keep the gold mines hidden for just a little bit longer. He wanted the other Lords to see House Stark bleeding themselves dry for their benefit, all without asking for anything in return.

Then, after they had all enjoyed the benefits of their newfound prosperity, when House Stark suddenly revealed the discovery of gold in the mountains now under their domain, the various Lords would easily believe it a blessing by the Old Gods for what the House of Wolves had done for the rest of them. Needless to say, Rickard wasn't pleased with the subterfuge, but he still reluctantly agreed to the plan.

The meeting with the Lords went exactly as expected. At first, they were wary of all the new land House Stark was claiming for themselves and a few like the Boltons were even brave enough to question why they were doing so. Thankfully Rickard and Brandon had answers to all of their questions prepared in advance. When they shared their plans for a more prosperous North will all of their vassals and presented them with the various goods each House was to receive, as well as the trained small folk they would need to make their new endeavours a success, the gathered Nobles all went home with praise on their lips and grateful for House Stark's generosity.

Father and son managed to successfully keep the mines hidden for another six moons. When they eventually made their big reveal, much as Brandon predicted, the majority of the North didn't bat an eye at the news, leaving only one House to complain about their good fortune. House Ryswell tried to claim the mountains were part of their holdings, but Rickard quickly denied them any rights to those lands.

Once confronted with the letter they sent ceding any claims over the Stony Shore and its associated lands to House Stark, in return for building the Fang, Lord Ryswell was forced to accept Rickard's decision on the matter.

Fortunately, the Lord of House Stark was able to appease his fellow Lord with the promise of Zorses to work within the future. Thankfully for the Starks, Syrio's Qartheen friend was well over a year into his journey to Yi-Ti and as luck would have it, a few moons after making his promise to Lord Ryswell, the merchant's arrival brought the Lord's House a dozen stallions and twice that number in mares to add to their stables.

After so many years of happiness and success, Brandon was more than prepared for some hardship to follow. But what the fates had in store for him, was far worse than he could ever have imagined. Barely two years after giving birth to his youngest brother, Benjen, Anna Stark passed away from the Winter chills.

One day she was perfectly healthy, and the next she was bedridden with a dire fever. Despite all of his and Maester Walys' hard work, less than a moon after getting sick, his mother died quietly in her sleep. Her loss was felt by the whole of the North, but none more so than her loving husband Rickard.

Mere days after her death, at the tender age of two and twelve, Brandon took on the duties of the Lord Paramount of the North in everything but name. It took almost a year for Rickard to get over his grief, but even when he did, he returned a mere shell of the man he once was.

As Brandon finished the sword form Hummingbird Kisses the Honeyrose and flowed smoothly into Heron Wading in the Rushes, he suddenly heard a deep baritone voice call out, "A moment of your time, my Lord."

When he stopped and turned his attention to the voice, Brandon saw three men waiting for him.

The first was a large man with copper-toned skin, almond shaped eyes and long black hair held in a single braid along his back. Matching Brandon's height of 6'1", Hotto was a boy of seven and ten and one of the three hundred Dothraki stock that were part of the Unsullied recruits. At the time of their purchase, Hotto's age and experience marked him as a leader by the Slave Masters at Meereen and to Brandon's good fortune he continued to live up to that position all these years later.

While all of his men were now skilled with a blade, Brandon could honestly say that in the North, the only one close to his level with a sword was the Dothraki leader in front of him. Had the boy still remained amongst the Great Khalasars in the Dothraki Sea, Brandon had no doubt he would one day have been a Khal himself.

Next to him, standing 5'10" with a lean build and short brown hair, was his older cousin Rickard Karstark. Named after Brandon's father, at eight and ten name days the boy in question was the only son of Anna Stark's older brother. Based on the little he knew of his uncle, Orion Karstark was a quiet, but intelligent man, who had the misfortune of becoming paralyzed from a hunting accident a few years back. Now his cousin was their grandfather Alric's chosen heir and the future Lord of Karhold.

While Rickard was only a fair hand with a blade, when it came to tactics and strategy, his mind could see things that men thrice his age and experience would often never officially given the title, Brandon considered his cousin a future General for his armies. The boy was as sharp as they come, and he understood the finer nuances of leadership better than any but Brandon himself.

The third and final member of the trio was a giant in every sense of the word. With shoulder length black hair and a thick beard covering his face, though still two moons shy of his fifteenth name day, Jon 'Greatjon to his friends' Umber already towered above everyone at 6'8" and it didn't seem as if he would stop growing anytime soon.

To the casual observer, Jon was a boisterous man that loved to drink, fight and fuck. To most, he came off as nothing more than a loud Northern savage, but to those who were lucky enough to call him a friend, they knew of the cunning hidden deep within the recesses of the man's mind. Despite his grandiose personality, Brandon found that the Umber was not someone who made decisions lightly and that once his word was given, not even the Gods could make him break his oath.

Both Rickard and Greatjon had been present at Winterfell when Brandon's father met with his vassals to give them their new gifts. At the time the two boys had been so impressed with Brandon's fighting abilities, they wanted to train with him themselves. The pair eventually asked for and received permission from their respective Lords to remain behind, and to this day they had yet to leave.

Over the years the four boys created a bond that grew from friendship to brotherhood. The support of the trio had not only been instrumental in keeping Brandon from falling apart after his mother's death, but their presence was also pivotal in the training of the new recruits. Nowadays Brandon valued their counsel above all except his father and Alys.

"What can I do for you, Hotto?"

"We are close to land, my Lord," the Dothraki answered. "It would be wise for you to change before meeting Lord Arryn."

"It took three of you to tell me this," Brandon replied, already assuming that something was wrong. To be fair, whenever Greatjon went anywhere, there was a good chance he would be involved in some kind of trouble.

His thoughts were confirmed, but not with the person he assumed, when Brandon heard Greatjon bark out a laugh and say, "The Quiet Wolf as finally shown his claws, Bran. And it's about fucking time he did so."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at his friend's statement, the silent question hanging in the air. Luckily Rickard didn't leave him waiting for long.

"What Greatjon means to say, cousin is that little Ned is upset at not being able to wear the Wolf Guard armor. And...as of late he has been very insistent that he receive one immediately."

Brandon rolled his eyes at the news. The "uniform" in question was something he put together almost two years ago. A few weeks after his mother's funeral, Brandon went to Greywater Watch to see how the Reeds were dealing with their new Rice farms. While there, he and his party were attacked by a pack of Lizard-lions that lived within the marshes of the Neck.

Though similar in appearance to their crocodile cousins from Sothoryos, Lizard-lions had dagger-like teeth, razor-sharp claws, and hides that were significantly stronger than their brethren. Brandon was actually so impressed with the hide's toughness, that he decided to make armor out of them.

The new armor for House Stark's men at arms had a full sleeve top composed of a thin piece of chainmail stuffed between two layers of Lizard-lion hide, with an attached hood that could be raised to cover the neck during a fight or act as a guard against the cold. Metal vambraces made of castle steel were provided as added protection for each forearm, along with fingerless leather gloves that contained a brass lining across the knuckles.

The remainder of the armor came with matching trousers and boots that were also made of Lizard-lion hide, with the whole ensemble being colored a deep shade of black. Though only half as good in comparison to full plate mail, the new armor was significantly better than leather alone, while still being light enough to grant the wearer full range of motion in a fight.

The Wolf's head emblazoned across the chest was also used to distinguish between the various Stark forces. Crimson red for the Wolf Guard, dark blue for the Sea Wolves and a simple brown for the Wolfpack. Brandon's father had been so pleased with the idea, he took it a step further and decided to add a grey wolf's head for members of House Stark.

"I take it you explained to my little brother that he has to wait until he actually completes his training to receive the armor?"

Rickard smirked and said, "I did, cousin, but he seems adamant that he should receive one right now if only to make a good impression on Lord Arryn. His words. Not mine."

Brandon sighed and knew he would have to deal with the matter himself. "How about his injury from yesterday?" he asked. "Is it still bothering him?"

Hotto shook his head answer, knowing full well his new charge would deny any sort of pain to his older brother, even if he was gasping his last breaths within the Stranger's embrace. "The injury has mostly healed, my Lord. T'was only a small bruise on the knee to begin with. Lord Ned will be fine by the time we reach the Eyrie."

"Good," Brandon replied, pleased that his brother hadn't sustained any lingering injury from his foolishness.

Mastering the blade was hard enough on land, but even more so while battling the sway of a ship. Those who were recruited to become Sea Wolves often practiced their katas on wooden constructs Brandon created, that were attached to pulleys and capable of mimicking a ship out in the open seas. It was foolish for his brother to practice his sword forms alone, but Brandon didn't have the heart to stay mad at him for long.

As he looked across the bow of the ship and saw the faint outline of land getting steadily sharper, Brandon turned to his friends and said, "We should be landing soon enough lads. Go on and get yourselves ready. I will go and speak to Ned, before doing so myself."

While his brothers in arms made their way towards the cabin they shared, Brandon went to speak to his brother in blood. The little boy of nine name days was known throughout Winterfell as the Quiet Wolf. Unlike the rest of their siblings, Ned didn't crave attention in the same way. He was fairly mild-mannered, which is why his recent bouts of angst had been so surprising to Brandon.

When he finally arrived at his brother's cabin, Brandon knocked once and heard a soft "Come in," through the door.

Each of the Stark siblings shared the classic black hair and grey eyes their House was known for, but the two with the closest resemblance to one another were definitely Brandon and Eddard. If not for the diverse gap between their intelligence, by appearance alone many would think Ned was Brandon reborn.

As he took in the bowed head and slumped shoulders of his little brother, Brandon couldn't help but wonder what was bothering the boy. "What's wrong, Ned?" he asked. "Hotto said your knee was better but is it still bothering you?"

Ned shook his head slowly and replied, "I'm fine, Bran. The knee doesn't hurt anymore and I didn't mean to worry you. I know I should have waited for Hotto, but I thought I could do the katas alone like you do. I fell because I wasn't good enough."

Brandon gently raised his brother's head and frowned when he saw the boys grey eyes glisten with tears."Why do we fall, Ned? So that we can learn to pick ourselves up."

"Mo..mother used to tell me that," Ned replied with a sniffle.

"Aye, mother was as wise as she was beautiful. She used to tell me the same whenever I would fall."

Ned's eyes widened in surprise, unable to even think of his older brother failing at something. "You would fall too?"

Brandon couldn't help but snort at the question. "Of course I did, little brother. Don't let Maester Walys' words fool you. I promise you I don't shit gold and piss rainbows. If Syrio were here, he'd regale you in detail about all of my failures in our spars together. While I was in Oldtown, almost every Raven I received from mother, was her advising me to pick myself up and try again."

"Really?"

"Really, Ned," Brandon confirmed, pleased to see the small smile that flashed across his brother's face. "Now what's bothering you? The past few days you have not been acting like yourself and I would have the truth from you now, little brother."

Ned remained silent. He didn't want to embarrass his family any more than he already had, but when he felt Brandon's fingers run through his hair, for a brief moment he thought he was with his mother again. A time where everything was right in the world. A time where he hadn't yet failed his family.

"Do...do you think mother would be ashamed of me?" Ned asked, his soft voice laced with fear.

Of all things Brandon was expecting his brother to say, this definitely wasn't one of them. "Why in the name of the Gods would our mother ever be ashamed of you?"

Ned shrugged his shoulders and said, "Cause I'm not going to be a Stark anymore."

Brandon blinked once, twice and then a third time in shock. "What. The. Fuck," he growled, barely managing to contain his rage. "Who the hell told you that? Of course you're a Stark. You were born one, and by the grace of the Gods you will die one, many, many years from now."

"Then why is father sending me to live with Lord Arryn? Why is he so angry with me? I know I'm not as smart as you, or as good with a blade, but I swear by the Gods I will try harder. Please don't send me away, Bran. I don't want to leave Winterfell. I want to stay with you, Lyanna and Benjen."

As he saw the tears flowing down his brother's face, the Heir of Winterfell knew exactly what must have happened. "What did father tell you about going to live with Lord Arryn?" he asked, already fearing the answer.

"Nothing," Ned mumbled back. "He just told me to pack my things and that I was to leave with you as soon as you returned to Winterfell."

For the second time that day, Brandon growled in frustration. "When I get back home, father and I will be having words. Strong words."

Ned could almost feel the anger emanating from his brother. "What do you mean, Bran?"

"I'm angry with father, because I trusted him to tell you about being fostered with Lord Jon. Something he obviously failed to do."

As soon as he saw the confused look appear on Ned's face, Brandon explained, "Outside of marriage, another way for two Houses to create bonds with one another is by fostering. When Lord Jon was your age, he was fostered at Winterfell. Our grandfather raised him as if he were his own son and taught him what it means to be a Lord. He was even present for the birth of our father and Aunt Lyarra. Now we are going to return that trust to House Arryn by having you foster at the Eyrie."

While he understood what was happening to him now, Ned still didn't like it. The thought of living so far away from home scared him and he didn't want to leave. "Why did you agree to this, Bran? You promised me you would never leave me."

Brandon remembered well the promise he made to his brother. It was shortly after their mother's funeral and with their father still lost in his own pain, he had taken it upon himself to be both brother and pseudo-father for his younger siblings.

Pulling his brother into a tight embrace, Brandon replied, "I swear to you, Ned, I have no desire to be apart from you, Lyanna or Benjen. The only reason I even agreed to this, was because I thought it would be good for you. Lord Arryn is not only a friend of our House, but he is also a kind and wise ruler. There is much he can teach you."

"But why can't I just learn these things from you?"

Brandon shook his head before replying, "Because as much as I would love to teach you everything, little brother, I'm still learning myself what it means to be a ruler. Lord Arryn has been a Lord, for longer than I have been alive and he can help you in ways that I can not."

Ned may be a child, but he wasn't stupid. After a moment's thought, he reluctantly accepted his having to go. "Will I still be allowed to visit?" he asked, hoping he wouldn't be apart from his family for too long.

"Of course you can, my little wolf," Brandon replied, proud at Ned's maturity. "It wouldn't be often, but I doubt Lord Arryn will begrudge you the occasional visit. And you will always be free to send a Raven whenever you want. I give you my word that I will answer every letter you send with haste."

After a few moments of enjoying the warmth in his brother's embrace, Ned pulled back and asked, "How long do you think I would have to stay at the Eyrie, Bran?"

Brandon hesitated before answering, not wanting to give his brother false information about his time away from home. "All fosterings are different, Ned, so it really depends on you and Lord Arryn on how long you will stay at the Eyrie. The quicker you learn what he has to teach you, the sooner Lord Arryn will decide you are ready to be a Lord of your own."

As much as he didn't like it, Ned nodded his head in agreement. "What about my training?," he asked, as he suddenly remembered there wouldn't be any Wolf Guard members to teach him the Ilysis Abra.

Brandon ruffled his brother's hair playfully and grinned when the embarrassed boy slapped his hand away in mock anger. "You have nothing to fear in regards to your training. I've already received permission from Lord Arryn to have Hotto remain with you."

Ned's eyes widened in surprise at the news and the little boy couldn't believe who he was going to have as a teacher. Ever since he started his training a year ago, Ned constantly heard how incredible Brandon was with a sword. He'd seen evidence of his brother's skills several times in the sparring yard and until he saw Hotto spar with Brandon, he didn't think anyone could ever defeat his older sibling.

While it's true that Brandon had yet to be defeated, Hotto was the only man in the North that had the skill to do so. Ned remembered clearly the day he saw the two of them fight. Despite their size, both men were easily as fast as they were strong and the way they moved still left the little boy speechless at times.

From the day he first realized how skilled the two of them were, the quiet wolf dreamed of one day matching them himself. Now he would have Hotto to teach him. If ever there was someone he'd want outside of his brother as a teacher, it most certainly would be the former Dothraki slave. Suddenly thoughts of a grown version of himself battling his brother on equal grounds flashed across his eyes, and for the first time since he left Winterfell, did Ned look forward to his time at the Eyrie.

* * *

 **275: Winterfell(Lord's Solar)**

 _My name is Arian Frost and these are my last words. The war is over and the Houses of Frost and Stone are no more. I don't know if the Boltons were defeated or if the bastards betrayed us, but in the end, it no longer matters. I watched my wife and sons burn to death, while the Stark heir laughed. The fucking wolves granted my people no quarter. Even when my father and good brother begged them for peace, the Stark cunts refused to accept their surrender. I saw their men slaughter every man, woman, and child they could find, laughing with each life they took._

 _Every day I live, I curse my good brother's men for their loyalty. I should have died with my friends and family that day, but instead, I was forced to endure a while longer. When I was wounded by an arrow to the shoulder, I was rescued by three of House Stone's men at arms. On orders from their Lord, my wife's older brother, they took me to a hidden sanctuary he created amongst the mountains of Stony Shore. However, it seemed the Gods were not content with the deaths of everyone I held dear._

 _No sooner did we enter the cave, did the ground shake in a way I have never seen before. By the time it stopped, all three of my rescuers were crushed to death and I was trapped within my tomb of rocks. There was food and drink aplenty for several years, so I bid my time in hopes of a rescue._

 _Day in and day out I worked hard to keep my body fit and my spirits raised. I constantly practiced my blade work with my House's ancestral Greatsword Winter, as well as House Stone's ancestral Longsword Stonecrusher. But as time passed and no rescue came, I accepted the fate the Gods had in store for me._

 _The last of the food finished a fortnight ago and now with the remaining water also gone, I am not long for this world. I know not what I have done to anger the Gods, but I hope my death is price enough to end my torment. As I take what could be my last breaths in this world, I no longer care for revenge against the Starks and the Boltons. All I crave now is to see my wife and children again. Please oh merciful Gods, grant me this last request. Return to me to my family and end my pain._

As he finished reading the last words of Arian Frost, Brandon leaned his tired 6'8" frame into his seat. The thick journal in front of him had years worth of the man's writings, but it was always his last words that drew Brandon.

The young wolf was suddenly pulled from his musings by the sound of a knock on the door. "Come in," he called out.

The heir of Winterfell smiled when he saw his father walk into the room. Five years had passed since their now infamous fight. At the time Brandon's righteous fury was easily matched by his father's anger and bitterness. For a brief moment, it looked like father and son would come to blows, until Rickard was faced with the reality of how badly he failed his second son.

When the Lord of House Stark learned Ned thought he was being disowned, he was disgusted by his actions. Despite his many failings, Rickard was a man who truly valued family above all else. He was ashamed of how he treated the children his loving wife gifted him while still alive and he vowed to honor her memory by becoming a better man.

To be honest, Brandon was shocked by the declaration, but nonetheless pleased with the results. Since that day, his father became a new man. Rather than send Ned a Raven to apologize for his actions, Rickard personally went to the Eyrie to reconcile with his second son. Upon his return, Brandon felt as if his father was once again the man he knew before his mother's death. Not only was he more attentive to his duties as Lord Stark, he also made sure to spend plenty of time with Lyanna and Benjen, so they would always know how much he cared for them.

Even though Brandon hated the thought of any of his siblings thinking they weren't wanted by their family, the silver lining to the ordeal was the return of the father he thought he would never see again.

"What are you doing in here, boy?" Rickard asked his son. "Three weeks have passed since we found those damn Valyrian swords and you have barely left this room."

As much as would like to deny his father's claims, the tightness in back reminded the young Wolf of how long he'd spent hunched over the journal he was reading. "My apologies, father, but I was just reading through Arian Frost's journal."

Rickard grunted in response, unsure why his son would waste his time reading through a dead man's words. Especially one from a House long forgotten. "Why do you even bother with it?"

"Our ancestors were responsible for the death of everyone he held dear, the least I could do is pay my respects to the man's last words," Brandon replied truthfully. "Besides, it gives an interesting perspective on the history of our House. For all that the Starks have done for the North, our rise to power was bloodier than we like to admit."

Rickard reluctantly nodded his head in agreement. While nowadays the Starks were peaceful unless provoked, in the past that was not always so. Kingdoms weren't built through love and kindness but from blood and death. To become the Kings of the North, the Starks waged a brutal war that lasted for several centuries. They ruthlessly crushed all those who came before them, until their right to rule was no longer challenged by any House or man.

"What do you have in mind for the blades?" he asked, partially to change the subject, but also curious about his son's plans for the swords, especially given how much effort he put into keeping their existence a secret.

Brandon sighed at the question. "I would love to have the swords reforged into something more suited for House Stark, but I don't have the time..."

"Yes you do," Rickard interrupted. "You have been working almost non stop for the past ten years, lad. If anyone deserves some time to relax, it's you. Go and get the blades reforged in whatever way you have in mind for them. I will take care of things while you are gone."

As much as he wanted to refute his father's claim, Brandon was eager to take up the offer. The greatest blacksmiths in Planetos lived in Qohor and he long since desired to see the place for himself. "Are you sure, father?" he asked hesitantly, not wanting to overburden the man.

Rickard snorted at the question and then glared at his son. "I may be old, boy, but I'm not feeble yet. And it's not like I have much to do. The Cassels are doing a fine job taking care of Wolfswood port, the Twintails and the Fang for us. With their new holdfast still a year away from completion, we don't need to find their replacements anytime soon."

Brandon couldn't help but nod his head in agreement. The members of House Cassel had done an admirable job as administrators over the three Stark holdfasts and as far as he was concerned, they more than earned the new Fort his House was building on their behalf.

"Construction at Black Harbor and Moat Cailin is also going smoothly and I just received a Raven from Lord Manderly that the new shipment of Skag stone is already on its way."

The news about the stone definitely put Brandon's mind at ease. With Winterfell being the seat of House Stark, early on father and son decided to allot most of their resources to finishing it first. Unfortunately, this meant less stone available for Black Harbor and Moat Cailin, but now that would no longer be the case. With both Winterfell and Winter Town almost complete, the new shipment of stone could be sent to those sites right away.

Rickard sensed his heir was almost ready to accept his offer, so he gave his son the final push he needed to take a break. "Go on, boy. The North will still be here when you get back. Grab your friends and take some time away. It might be the last time you get a chance to do so."

Brandon frowned at his father's words. "What are you talking about, father? You're as healthy as a horse. Nothing is going to happen to you anytime soon."

"I never said I was going to die, boy," Rickard answered with a laugh. "But you've been doing the work of the Lord Paramount of the North long enough without the title now. When you come back from your trip, it's time to make it official."

To be honest, Brandon wasn't opposed to the idea. Over the past few years he had already taken upon the brunt of his father's duties and it would certainly please him to let the man retire in peace. What made him hesitate is what would no doubt accompany his new title. "Does that mean...?"

"Aye, lad. It's time for you to find a wife."

Brandon winced at the answer. While he wasn't against getting married, he very much wanted to marry for love the way his parents had. Sure their marriage was political to a degree, binding House Stark closer to their cadet branch, but Rickard and Anna also married for love.

Originally his mother was fostered at Winterfell to be a companion for his Aunt Lyarra. Despite their age difference, Rickard Stark fell in love with her almost at first sight. They spent years getting to know each other and when his aunt sadly died from a horsing accident, Anna never returned home. His grandparents already considered her to be a daughter in their hearts and once they learned of the feelings shared between Rickard and Anna, they made it official with a betrothal between the two.

When he was a child, Brandon often heard these stories from his mother and a part of him always wanted to find love in the same way. But alas it was not meant to be for him. The majority of his life had been dedicated to the betterment of the North, and now he was too old to find love in such a manner. The best he could hope for was to do his duty as a son of House Stark and marry someone who could help his family with their future plans. If the Gods were kind, perhaps they could still find love together, but if not, he would gladly settle for friendship.

"Very well, father, then I shall take my leave. When I get back, we can begin the search for the future Lady Stark."

* * *

 **Winterfell(Lord's Solar):**

As she walked down the hall towards the Lord's Solar, Alys couldn't believe how far she had come in her life. Born to one of the most desirable courtesans in Lys, she spent much of her early childhood being raised in the brothel her mother worked at. Alys grew up expecting to follow in the woman's footsteps, but as luck would have it, her fate was changed when she was purchased by one of her mother's top clients.

At the time Alys thought she was going to replace her mother in the older man's bed, but it seemed he had other plans for her. Instead of using her as a bed warmer, her new master taught her how to read, write and do her numbers. Once he deemed her education proficient, he used her to recruit people for his burgeoning spy network. Despite the hard work and travel such a job entailed, it was infinitely better than being a sex slave. To this day Alys didn't know why the man took such a chance on her, but she would forever be grateful that he had done so.

Though still a slave, life for Alys wasn't too bad under her former master's care. He never slept with her himself and even after several requests were made of him, he never offered her body to others as a reward. It was a kindness she never expected in her young life, but one that made her loyal to the man.

With the limited freedom she was granted due to her position, at the tender age of six and ten, Alys fell in love. The man was a sellsword in her master's service, named Taigar Lentalos. The third son of a minor Noble from Volantis, Taigar was everything she dreamed about in a man. Tall, with blond hair and blue eyes much like her own, he was kind, funny and attentive to her needs both in and out of the bedroom.

As the daughter of a whore, Alys knew well the honeyed words men would use to get a girl in their bed. But the man she loved was not like that. He vowed to one day buy her freedom and to prove his devotion to her, three moons before the birth of their first child, the pair secretly married in the temple of the Lyseni Goddess of Love.

For the brief time they were together, all was right in the world for Alys. The two years leading up to her second child's birth were easily the happiest she had ever been. Taigar was on the cusp of purchasing her freedom from her master and with another child on the way, Alys allowed herself to dream of a life she never thought she could have.

Sadly that dream was not meant to be. On the day she gave birth to their second son, Taigar Lentalos died on a pirate raid, a mere three miles away from Lyseni shores. The death of her husband nearly broke the young woman. Truth be told, if not for the sake of her children, Alys didn't know what would have happened to her back then.

As time passed, life went on. With their marriage being a secret, as a slave, Alys had no access to her husband's money and saw no way to purchase her and her children's freedom. She resigned herself to her given fate and threw her devotion to her work. Less than a year later, her life once again was thrown into a whirlwind of change.

The sudden death of her master meant she and her children now belonged to his chosen heir and son. Unfortunately, Alys knew the man to be a fool. When she learned her new master intended to sell her children to the Slavers of Astapor, Alys refused to let that happen. She refused to lose the last link she had to her husband, but as a slave herself, she didn't know how to save them from their fate. That's when the Gods smiled down at her.

Barely older than seven name days, Brandon Stark became her savior. After the conversation they had at the Quill and Tankard, the heir of Winterfell held true to his word and the next day purchased Alys and her children.

Now, after more than a decade of service to House Stark, Alys couldn't be happier. With the permission of Rickard Stark, she not only took her husband's name but so too did both of her sons. In the North, she was known as Lady Alys Lentalos, a personal friend of the Starks and the proud owner of several businesses in both Black Harbor and Winter Town.

Wherever she went she was treated with kindness and respect and she owed it all to the House of Stark. More so even than her former master, Alys' loyalty to her new Lords was without question. For the life they had given to her and her children, Alys knew in her heart she would never betray them.

When she arrived at her destination, the beautiful blonde knocked on the door and heard a deep voice call out, "Come in."

As she walked into the solar, the former slave saw the large and imposing figure of Rickard Stark sitting in a chair. Despite being in his forties, the man didn't have an ounce of fat on him. If not for the streaks of grey running through his beard and hair, she could easily believe him to be a man half his age.

"Good evening, my Lord," Alys said in greeting.

"Good evening, Lady Alys," Rickard replied with a kind smile. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"I live to serve, my Lord," she replied with a smile of her own. "It was no trouble at all."

"How are your children doing, my Lady?"

Alys couldn't help but grin at the thought of her sons. "Oliver is doing well, Lord Stark. He has almost completed his training at Moat Cailin and should be joining the Wolf Guard soon."

Rickard nodded his head in approval. His son's plans for a new fighting force were better than he ever expected and Rickard was more than pleased with the men and women the training centers were churning out. "And your youngest?" he asked curiously.

The thought of her second son almost made Alys wince in reply. Despite her many pleas against it, he was more like his father than she cared to admit. His desire to sail the seas matched that of her husband Taigar and much to her dismay he'd joined the Sea Wolves at Black Harbor.

"Steffon joined the Sea Wolves a few years back, my Lord, though thankfully he is nowhere near completing his training.

"I see," Rickard replied simply, knowing full well about the death of Alys' husband out at sea.

After a brief moment of silence, Alys asked, "How may I be of service to you, my Lord?"

As he stared into the younger woman's ocean blue eyes, Rickard hoped her spy network could help him find what he was looking for. "My son has just left for Qohor, my Lady, and we have come to an accord that upon his return he shall take over as Lord Paramount of the North."

"Is that not good news, Lord Stark?" Alys asked, confused by Rickard's mood. "I was under the impression that you wanted Lord Brandon to take up the mantle sooner rather than later."

"I am more than pleased with my son taking up his rightful place as my heir," Rickard grunted back. "What I am missing is a fitting wife to walk beside him. That is where I'm hoping you can help me, Lady Alys."

"How so?" the blonde asked, intrigued by the request. For the man that gave her the life she now lived, she was more than willing to help him in any way that she could.

"Do you still intend to expand upon your...new businesses in Westeros?" Rickard asked hesitantly.

Alys momentarily froze at the question. As the Mistress of Whispers for House Stark, the businesses she had been provided with by Brandon and his father, allowed her access to people that would never speak to Alys the former slave. The problem lay in that all the shops she was given were quality stores that only catered to the wealthy.

While places like that had their uses, Alys knew the true gold mines of information came from much seedier locales. Flagons of wine and whores aplenty were ideal to loosen even the noblest of men's lips. The difficulty came with convincing the Starks of spending money on such an endeavor.

For all their honor and ruthlessness, the members of the House she now served were not comfortable with exploiting women. It had taken Alys years to convince Brandon to give her the money she would need to open several high-end whore houses throughout Westeros, and now she feared his father might ruin those plans.

"I understand how...distasteful you find such places, my Lord, but I assure you my network will benefit greatly from this investment."

Alys sighed softly in relief when she heard Rickard reply, "I care not for what you are planning, my Lady. As you say, my son and I may find these places reprehensible, but we are not foolish enough to doubt their value to our needs. My request of you requires something else."

"And what might that be?"

"During your travels through Westeros, I want you and your network to gather as much information as possible on suitable matches for my son. It's high time Brandon got married, but I won't settle for any but the best as the future Lady Stark."

Alys nodded her head in agreement, her mind already making new plans to accomplish this mission. She was aware of the reasons behind Brandon's trip to Qohor. Considering what a perfectionist her Lord was at times, between the journey itself, finding a suitable blacksmith and the time required to reforge the three blades, his return should coincide with that of her own.

"Is there anything or anyone you are looking for in particular, Lord Stark?"

"I have no one in mind as of yet," Rickard answered truthfully. "But I do have certain requirements for you to meet. Four in particular."

"Of course, my Lord," Alys replied happily. After everything Brandon Stark had done for, she would make certain to find him the perfect wife. "What would those requirements be?"

* * *

 **Qohor(Essos):**

As he made his way through the streets of Qohor, Brandon marveled at the various wares offered throughout the market. Due to its location, the city functioned as a gateway to the Dothraki Sea and the lands beyond. Trading caravans bound for and returning from Vaes Dothrak, more often than not had to provision themselves within the city. Over the years, the steady stream of merchants helped Qohor become one of the richest cities in all of Essos.

Everywhere he turned, the young wolf could see examples of exquisite wooden carvings, beautiful sets of jewelry and tapestries comparable to the ones found in Myr. It was no wonder as to why Maesters in Westeros called Qohor the most exotic of the free cities. In spite of all that, in Brandon's eyes what set this city apart from any other, were the numerous armors and weapons openly on display as far as the eye could see.

The forges of Qohor were said to be without equal anywhere else in the world. It was a well-known fact that the armor and weapons their blacksmiths created were superior to any that could be found in Westeros. From the examples Brandon could see all around him, that claim was no idle boast. The blacksmiths here were capable of infusing a deep color into the metal they worked on with wonderful results, but their true claim to fame was that the Qohorik were the only ones in the world who still possess the knowledge on how to rework Valyrian steel. A secret they kept well guarded against everyone else.

It's for that reason that Brandon traveled all the way here and spent nearly two moons trying to find the ideal blacksmith for his needs. He searched high and low for the perfect person to reforge his Valyrian blades and based on the multiple recommendations one man alone received, there was no better blacksmith in Qohor than Garrio Aneros.

After reviewing a collection of the man's works, Brandon could honestly say that in his entire life he never met a blacksmith of such caliber. It didn't take long for him to explain exactly what he wanted to be done with both swords and with Garrio's assurance that the blades would be made exactly to his specifications, he just had to wait for the allotted time to pass. Now that the required four moons had come and gone, he couldn't wait to see the results for himself.

As he continued his solitary trek towards the blacksmith's shop, Brandon's keen senses picked up three familiar scents through the various smells permeating throughout the market. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a shadow following him and quickly identified the person in question.

At 5'6" Meng was a YiTish woman with silky black hair that stretched down to the curve of her back and narrow brown eyes that could project a multitude of emotions. Her diminutive frame would lead one to believe she couldn't handle herself in a fight, but Brandon knew otherwise.

When he first began this trip, Brandon stopped by Braavos to spend some time with his former master Syrio. Over the years the two exchanged numerous Ravens to keep in touch, but he'd yet to visit his friend since he was named as the Sealord's First Sword.

Two days after his arrival to the city, Brandon was taking Syrio to see his new Valyrian blades, when the pair came across a Slave ship docked in the port. Given Braavos' anti-slavery policy, Brandon was naturally curious by its presence. When he asked Syrio about it, the First Sword informed him that the ship from Slaver's Bay carried almost three dozen warrior women, some of whom would soon enough be purchased by the Sealord. Apparently, Syrio's Master wanted elite guards to protect his ever growing harem, but in his paranoia, he didn't trust his male men at arms to do the job.

While active slavery was no longer permitted in the city, much like Brandon had done with the Unsullied recruits he purchased long ago, buying and than freeing slaves to take into your service was still allowed. Before he could think to question his friend any further, the pair was met by a sight that impressed both of them greatly.

Standing on the deck of the ship, with her arms bound in heavy chains, a small YiTish woman was being shepherded by no less than a dozen men. When one of the fools pushed her to continue moving, she lashed out in a manner that amazed Brandon by its brutality. With only her legs free, the tiny girl tore through her captors with a speed few could hope to match. If not for the threat of several crossbows to stop her, the young wolf didn't think there was anyone on the ship with the ability to subdue her by themselves.

In that very moment, Brandon decided he just had to buy her for himself. Syrio cautioned him against offending the Sealord in such a manner, but the young wolf would not be deterred. He refused to let such a talented warrior go to waste and if it meant he had to appease the Sealord's bruised ego to get what he wants, he would gladly do so with a smile on his face.

Brandon's first meeting with Meng was something he would never forget.

 _ **Flashback:**_ _**Start**_

As soon as he shut the door to his cabin behind him, Brandon's gaze took in the beautiful woman of three and twenty sitting upon his bed. The surprisingly transparent blue colored gown she was wearing, gave him a perfect view of her naked and petite body. Though a man of honor, he was still a man and couldn't help but appreciate the sight of her full breasts.

Before he could even think to inform the woman of her new found freedom, Brandon was attacked with a quickness he wasn't expecting. The slave girl suddenly launched herself off the bed and began running towards him. In three quick strides, she was airborne, her right knee extending to meet his chest.

The force of the blow rocked Brandon back against the cabin door, leaving him unable to guard against the powerful heel kick that suddenly struck him across the face. His momentary daze prevented the young wolf from blocking the subsequent knee to his balls and with hands clutching his now bruised crotch, he fell to the floor groaning in pain.

Out of the corner of his eye, Brandon saw the woman pick up a wooden chair and barely managed to brace himself before she broke it across his back. His size and strength allowed him to endure the assault far better than most men, but his anger over the situation gave him a second wind the woman wasn't expecting.

Embracing the Void with an ease born over years of repetition, the young wolf's hands seemed a blur as he blocked a series of kicks that were launched against his head. The sudden clarity of mind that came with entering the Void, brought with it an absence of pain that allowed Brandon to rise from his knees despite the continuous attack against his person.

While he had no desire to hurt the warrior woman before him, the wolf inside of him refused to accept defeat. The moment he saw a lull in his opponent's attack, Brandon lashed out with a rapid-fire combination of his own. Countless hours honing his body over the years, allowed him to surprise the woman with his own strength and speed. While she deftly avoided or parried many of the attacks he sent her way, a handful of strikes still passed through her guard.

Back and forth the two fighters battled on, their hits getting faster and stronger with each strike. For every blow that Brandon managed to land against her, the woman's speed allowed her to answer with three in kind. A normal man would have long ago succumbed to the hits he'd already taken, but years of conditioning his body kept Brandon fighting on. The same, however, could not be said of his opponent.

While her speed was beyond anything Brandon had ever faced before and her stamina remarkable for someone her size, the petite girl lacked a body with the strength and endurance needed to exchange blows with someone of Brandon's size and training. Despite her amazing skill, which truth be told surpassed that of Brandon in hand to hand combat, she was tiring with a quickness that would soon enough pave the way for the young wolf's victory.

The moment Brandon realized the woman was beginning to slow down, the young wolf closed in on his prey, hoping to use his size and reach to finally end the needless fight. Unfortunately for him, his opponent quickly deduced his intentions. She sidestepped a right cross that would have knocked her down had it connected and unleashed a furious combo against Brandon's exposed rib-cage. Without stopping to see the fruits of her assault, the girl grabbed a vase off the table beside her and shattered it against his head.

Unable to avoid the projectile in any way, Brandon pushed through the blow with nary a sound of pain. He managed to get close enough to corner his opponent against the wall and caught a kick that was meant for his head. The young wolf pinned the leg against his shoulder, forcing the girl to form a perfect split.

With his free hand, he unleashed a vicious uppercut against her jaw and as a payback for the knee to his balls, struck her with a thunderous blow between her open legs. The girl cried out in pain, but shockingly enough still refused to fall. She responded with a move Brandon was already expecting and as soon as she jumped off her planted foot to strike the side of his head, he released his hold on her other leg and threw her against the wall.

Once more the woman cried out in pain, but still, she stumbled forward in a valiant effort to continue fighting. Sadly for her, the fight was now over. In a move he'd practiced many times in the past, Brandon grabbed her by the throat, lifted her into the air and slammed her body roughly into the ground.

In the countless times Brandon used this move against grown men, it almost always left them in a daze that ended the spar. Never once did any of them react like the woman he was fighting. Rather than succumb to the blow like many others, his opponent not only took the hit without complaint, but her hands began clawing against the one he had on her throat, while her legs wrapped around his neck in a vice-like grip.

The long limbs he earlier admired for their beauty felt like corded iron squeezing against his throat. In a growl of frustration he yelled out, "For fuck's sake, woman, I'm not here to hurt you. You're free."

The slight ease of tension against his neck, not only allowed Brandon to take a much-needed breath, but it also gave him hope that the woman could understand him. "Can you understand me, girl?"

When he received a sharp nod in response, Brandon released his hold around the girl's throat. "Than hear me now. You. Are. Free."

The woman hesitated briefly before releasing her legs from around his neck. In a fluid motion, she rolled backward and immediately rose to her feet. Despite the blood dripping down from her swollen lips, and the bruises that now adorned her beautiful face, she stared back at him, her entire bearing seeming unruffled and serene.

"Why?" she asked, her unknown accent oddly pleasing to Brandon's ears.

Rather than answer her right away, Brandon stood up and calmly made his way to the dresser near his bed. He grabbed a bottle and two glasses from within, before walking back to the table. With one of the two chairs now only suitable for firewood, he kicked the remaining chair towards the girl and took a seat on a stool he saw under the table. He poured the brown liquid from the bottle generously into both glasses and then slid one towards the girl.

"Sit," he said, his voice soft but still commanding. "And drink."

The woman hesitated for a brief moment before complying. When Brandon saw her look suspiciously towards the glass, he lifted the one in his hand and drained it completely.

Brandon smiled when the girl swallowed the dark liquid in one go and began coughing at the harshness of the drink. "What the hell is this?" she asked.

"It's called Whiskey," Brandon replied with a smirk. "It's a new drink we have in the North. Many consider it to be a fine way to keep warm during our harsh winters, but it does take some time getting used to it."

After a moment of silence, Brandon refilled her glass and watched as she carefully took another sip. "What's your name, girl?"

As the woman's brown eyes stared into his, not an ounce of fear could be seen anywhere on her body. "I am Meng Lo, daughter of Pol Lo, Lord General of his Grace Jar Doq, the true God-Emperor of Yi Ti."

"That...is a long name," Brandon replied glibly. "I hope you don't mind if I just call you Meng."

There was subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth, before Meng replied, "You know my name, but I have yet to know yours."

"Than allow me to introduce myself, dear lady. I am Brandon Stark, Heir of Winterfell and Future Lord Paramount and Warden of the North."

"Am I really free, Lord Stark?"

"Aye, you are," Brandon answered while refilling his own glass. "I bought you earlier today and now I free you."

"Why would you do this for me?" Meng asked curiously. "I doubt the bastards who held me, would sell me for cheap."

As he stared at the woman in front of him, Brandon once again marveled at the training she must have received. Despite her casual acceptance of the situation, she looked ready to attack at a moment's notice.

"I saw you fight the other day, and you are without a doubt an impressive woman. As a warrior myself, I could not in good conscience allow someone of your skills to remain bound to such disgusting people. I would like to have you in my service, but not as a slave. If you wish to leave, you are free to do so, but I hope you decide to come work for me instead."

"Why would a Westerosi Lord want a female warrior to be in his service? Do not your people look upon women as weak?"

"While such a thing is true for the most of Westeros, you will find that in the North and in Dorne we are much more open-minded when it comes to female fighters," Brandon replied honestly. "As it stands, I already have a dozen women in my service and every single one of them has earned the right to be there."

As she stared into Brandon's piercing grey eyes, Meng felt torn between wanting to believe in his offer, while still searching for a hidden motive. "Free or not, I will not sleep with."

Brandon was taken aback by the response and then laughed loudly in answer. "Beautiful you may be, my lady, but I have no intention of sleeping with you. Soon enough I shall marry whatever girl my father has chosen for me and I would not dishonor my future wife with such a dalliance."

"Then why buy me, only to free me?" Meng asked, her biting voice almost demanding an answer. "Surely a Lord such as yourself already has plenty of men at his beck and call."

Brandon nodded his head in agreement. "While it's true that I have men aplenty in my service, none of them are as skilled in unarmed combat as you are. Your teachings would go a long way towards improving the caliber of my men at arms."

"So, you wish for me to train your men in return for my freedom?" Meng asked, not really opposed to the idea.

"If that is what you wish, I would be fine with that," Brandon answered. "Though I would prefer to have you sworn to my House."

"Why?," Meng asked, still suspicious over his offer.

"Because if you were sworn into my service, when you're not instructing my men on how to fight, I would have you as a personal guard for my future wife. As a woman, you could follow her to places that would not be possible for any man that was protecting her."

Meng was not surprised by the thought of such an attempt. Targeting family members or loved ones was a common tactic used in Yi Ti, which is why her father devoted so much time and money to her training."Do you expect for there to be attacks on her person?"

"None that I'm aware of as of now," Brandon replied with a shake of his head. "While I am a man who hopes for the best, I feel it prudent to always prepare for the worst. Should the day ever come where my enemies decide to hurt me through my loved ones, I would rather their protections already be in place. As for hiring your services, if you choose that route, I give you my word you will be provided with the best of accommodations and I will be most generous with your payment."

As he took a sip of the Whiskey in his glass, Brandon patiently waited for Meng's answer. Based on the offer he'd made, he was sure he knew what her response was going to be, so he was surprised when he heard her say, "Your offer is most generous, Lord Stark, but I'm afraid I must decline."

"Very well," Brandon replied with a disappointed sigh. "I am a man of my word, so you are free to go, Meng. I assume you will be returning to Yi-Ti? Do you need any assistance in getting back home?"

Meng shook her head and said, "No thank you, my Lord. I have no intention of returning to Yi-Ti. There is nothing left for me back home."

"I don't understand," Brandon replied, unsure why his offer was rejected.

For a second Meng thought of not answering the unspoken question being asked, but in the end, she decided the man who freed her deserved to know the truth.

"As the Lord General of the God Emperor's armies, my father was charged with not only protecting the realm, but his responsibilities also included guarding the Royal family," Meng explained. "Two years ago, he failed in both of his duties."

"How so?" Brandon asked, curious how a daughter of such an obviously important man, found herself living the life a slave.

Meng took a moment to gather herself, the memory of her loss still painful even now. "It was no secret amongst those in the Royal Court, that the Emperor's younger twin, Mar Doq, coveted his brother's throne. Despite being born only minutes apart, the two brothers grew up to be different in almost every possible way. Whereas the Emperor was a scholar who preached peace and looked to improve the lives of his people, his brother was trained as a warrior and thought such kindness to be a weakness. Many a time their viewpoints caused the two men to clash, but with my father as the Emperor's closest friend and advisor, none would dare to challenge him for long. Not even the Prince."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at the news. For a man to have such power outside of the Royal Family, was no small claim. He found himself curious as to how such a thing was even possible. "I have no wish to be offensive, my Lady, but I find it hard to believe a mere General has more authority than a Prince of the Realm."

Even a blind man could see the pride Meng felt in regards to her father.

"My father was no ordinary man, my Lord," the young woman replied, her belief in the statement clearly evident in every fiber of her being. "There was not a soul in the capital, that did not know well the tale of Pol Lo, 'The Man Who Couldn't Be Beat'. My father was considered to be one of the greatest Generals in the history of my people. Beloved by his men, for how much he valued the life of every soldier under his command, he earned the respect of commoners and nobles alike. However, what made him feared by his enemies, was his skills as a Fighter. My father fought in over a hundred different battles and duels, without ever once tasting defeat."

"Outsiders call YiTi a land of a thousand gods and a hundred Princes, ruled by one God-Emperor. For the most part, this is true. Two years ago, the Emperor's brother led a coup against the Royal family. Mar Doq formed an alliance with several outlying Princes from Yin and Jinqi and had them attack the capital in unison. When my father learned of the approaching army, he immediately gathered his men to deal with the threat. The battle lasted for days and despite facing overwhelming odds, he once again emerged victorious. Unfortunately, his return wasn't what he was expecting."

As fascinated as he was by the story, Brandon was equally disturbed by actions of the Emperor's brother. "I take it the Emperor's brother made his play for the throne in your father's absence?"

Meng nodded her head slowly, he brown eyes suddenly glistening with tears. "While my father was away, the traitor marched his hired men into the palace and killed every member of the Royal Family. The Kin-slayer didn't even hesitate to take the lives of his nieces and nephews. By the time my father returned, he'd already crowned himself as the new Emperor and placed his mercenaries all throughout the city. As an added insurance, Mar Doq captured the families of my father's most loyal men and held them as hostages."

"I take it your father is..."

"Dead, my Lord," Meng replied stoically. "After the Battle of the Three Princes, less than a third of the army lived to return home. Tired and short on resources, they were met at the gates by the new Emperor and his private army. Had I not been captured along with the others, I have no doubt my father would have stormed the capital, regardless of the odds he was facing. Unfortunately, I was. Mar Doq knew how much my father loved me and used that to his advantage. In return for my father's death, he promised to spare myself and the other families he kept as hostages. As much as he cared for the men that served under him, I know my father only surrendered for me."

After his surrender, my father, along with a dozen of his most loyal men, were labeled as traitors to the new regime. Each of them was stripped of their lands and titles, then beheaded in the palace courtyard. The new Emperor kept his word by sparing the families of every man killed that day, but he did so by selling them all into slavery."

Brandon shook his head in disgust. As far as he was concerned, Mar Doq was a man without honor. His play on words was something he'd seen several times in the South and it was a method he never wanted to use for himself. While a Lord must be willing to do whatever it takes for the good of his House and his people, the young wolf firmly believed it could be done without the use of such chicanery.

"I'm truly sorry for your loss, Meng, but if you have no reason to return home, why not enter my service?"

"Because I can not leave the others behind, Lord Stark."

"The others?" Brandon asked curiously. "I take it they're your family."

"Not in the manner you are thinking," Meng answered. "My mother passed when I was a child and both my elder brothers died many years back. The only family I care about now, are the two girls that protected me in the Slave pens, just much as I protected them."

"Are they also from Yi Ti?" Brandon asked, a plan already forming in his mind.

"Yes, my Lord. Both girls are first cousins, the daughter, and niece of my father's second in command. They too were sold into slavery along with myself. Together we kept ourselves safe against the rapists and murders that fought in the pits. Now I fear what will happen to them without my help."

As much as he hated the thought of benefitting off someone else's misery, Brandon wasn't foolish enough to squander such a valuable opportunity. Meng's skills were worth more than mere gold to him and the things she could teach him and his men would be worth every dragon he paid to buy her friends. The problem lay in explaining the cost to his father.

The Sealord was a man known for his exquisite tastes. Brandon had no doubt the ruler of Braavos would only want the cream of the crop to guard his harem. If Meng's friends were even half as talented as she was, he was certain the three girls would be the best the Slavers had to offer. A fact Syrio's master would certainly be aware of. In order to appease the man's ego, Brandon would have to go above and beyond what he initially had in mind. This most likely meant gifting the Sealord with the remainder of the warrior women the Slavers brought with them, but the young wolf would gladly do so to have the trio for himself.

"Tell me, Meng, how good are your friends in comparison to you?"

As soon as she heard the question, Meng felt her heart leap inside of her chest. The thought of her sisters in all but blood being freed alongside her, gave her a hope she hadn't felt in a very long time. For a brief moment she feared what their freedom would cost them in the future, but so far the Lord in front of her had shown himself to be an honorable man and she would return that trust in kind.

"They both are skilled, my Lord, but not to my level," the YiTish woman replied truthfully. "The training they received was nowhere near as intensive as what my father arranged for me, but both Pan and Yang have the potential to match me one day."

Brandon couldn't help but grin at the answer. Even if the girls didn't live up to their potential, they had enough talent now for him to justify the cost it would take to free them.

"And if I could arrange to free both of your friends?"

"Then I give you my word that the three of us would gladly swear to serve your House," Meng answered without hesitation.

 _ **Flashback: End**_

Rather than feel offended by Meng's actions, Brandon was amused by her constant vigilance.

Ever since he freed Meng, Pan and Yang, the trio expressed their gratitude by shadowing him wherever he went. Most of the Wolf Guard initially found his new diminutive guards to be a joke until they were soundly beaten by the girls in a spar.

Pan even surprised him by defeating Greatjon. Unlike with the fight between him and Meng, the girl didn't try to exchange blows with the giant. She used her speed to dance around him with ease, and dropped the man with a simple kick to the back of the knee. The moment he was down, she had a dagger to his throat asking him to yield. Needless to say, the demonstration was more than enough to earn the Wolf Guard's respect.

"Come on out, Meng," Brandon called out to the woman. "I know you girls are following me, so there's no need for you to hide in the shadows."

It didn't take long for the trio of girls to make their way to him. "How do you always know where we are, Lord Stark?" Pan asked, obviously irritated by her failure to remain hidden from her target.

Five years younger than Meng, at eight and ten, the 5'6" girl had shoulder length black hair and hazel colored eyes. Her exotic beauty easily drew the attention of any man that looked upon her, a fact that she was well aware of. The most outgoing of the trio, Brandon was pleased with how quickly she befriended other members of the Wolf Guard.

Beside her was the last of the three girls Brandon was able to free. At 5'5", the six and ten Yang was the youngest of the group. Though beautiful in her own right, with her shoulder length black hair and beautiful hazel eyes, she looked similar enough to Pan, where the two could easily pass as sisters rather than cousins. While her unarmed fighting skills were nowhere near as good as Meng, or even her own cousin, Yang was surprisingly the best of the trio when it came to wielding a sword. Over the past few moons Brandon had been personally teaching the girls his Ilysis Abra and while all of them had been taking well to the new style, Yang was clearly adapting to it the best.

"I would tell you, Pan, but I doubt you would believe me," Brandon replied with a knowing smirk.

Yang rolled her eyes at the pout that suddenly appeared on her cousin's face. Pan asked the same question every time Brandon noticed them following him, but she refused to believe the answer he already provided them the first time.

Even though it was still hard for her to believe a man could track someone by smell alone, her new Lord had done it enough times for her to realize he was telling the truth. "Why must you always act so childish, cousin? Lord Stark has already explained that he can track us by our scent."

Pan glared at the younger girl and said, "First, I do not smell," she exclaimed loudly. "Second, I refuse to believe a man can track someone by smell alone. He has to be using another method and I just want to know what it is."

While Brandon laughed at the banter between the two, Meng shook her head in frustration. "Enough," she growled at the pair in YiTish. "We are here to escort Lord Stark to the blacksmith, not argue in front of him like silly little girls."

Once Pan and Yang mumbled out an apology, the group traveled the rest of the way in silence. As soon as they arrived at the blacksmith's shop, Brandon eagerly walked inside and found Garrio waiting for him like he expected.

"Welcome back, Lord Stark," the blacksmith called out in greeting.

Despite his obvious excitement, Brandon still managed to smile politely at the man and reply, "Thank you, Garrio. I take it my swords are ready now?"

Garrio bowed his head, before moving to open a large box sitting on the counter. "You will find the blades have been made exactly to your specifications, my Lord."

The moment he saw the newly forged swords, Brandon couldn't help but marvel at their beauty. Mirror images of each of other, one sword was imbued with a rich black color, while the other was as pale as milk glass. At 50 in length, the double-edged blades were slightly longer than regular longswords, but due to the nature of Valyrian steel, still weighed less than any other sword of the same size. They each had hilts composed of rare dragon bone, wrapped in black and white leather respectively, with the pommel of each sword taking the shape of a wolf's head and colored to match the rest of the blade.

When is eyes took in the golden wolf's head etched on either side of both blades, Brandon smiled at the sight. On Earth, masters of the Jinsei Odori used a heron-mark to signify one's status as a blademaster. Brandon wanted to do something similar for the future blademasters that learned his Ilysis Abra, but this time he chose a golden wolf's head to mark their status.

As his fingers gently caressed the beautifully crafted blades, Brandon knew exactly what to name them. Picking up both swords in his hands, he whispered to himself, "I shall call you Night's bane and Light's Fury. Together you will be known as the Swords of Night and Day."

* * *

 **276: Winterfell(Lord's Solar)**

As he watched Alys and his father casually converse over the last of their meal, Brandon leaned back into the large leather chair he was sitting in and took a sip of the wine in his hand. Aromatic and full-bodied, Flint's Red was a hit all throughout the North. The wine had a higher alcohol content in comparison to Dornish Red but still remained light on the palate. Overall he was very pleased with how well the Flints were doing with their vineyard and grateful they sent him a case of every new vintage they produced.

Brandon returned to the North two nights ago, exactly one year to the day that he left on his trip. During his time away, Rickard had done an admirable job of diverting resources to the construction sites that needed them the most. Thanks to his father's efforts, not only was the Mountain canal that connected the Twintails to the Last River finished but so too was the Fort for House Cassel and most importantly, Winterfell and Winter Town.

With the Shimmering Canal only a few moons away from completion, the last two major construction projects left in the North were Black Harbor and Moat Cailin. Based on the Ravens he read through from the foreman that ran each site, with the considerable amount of Skag stone each site they were now receiving, both locations would be done within two years at the most.

While this would mean a vast majority of small folk would soon be out of a job, between Winter Town, Black Harbor and Wolfswood Port, there were still plenty of job opportunities for them to choose from. For those that didn't want to settle down just yet, Brandon had a new project in mind for their services.

The Kingsroad was barely more than two narrow dirt tracks that lead up from the Neck to Winterfell, while the rest of the North didn't even have that much connecting the major holdfasts with one another. For too long his people were forced to rough their way through the untamed lands and now Brandon wanted to change that.

In preparation for the next round of construction, Brandon created plans for stone paved roads large enough to allow three wagons to travel abreast with ease. Each of these roads would be flanked by footpaths for the common traveler, bridleways for those only traveling by horse and properly created drainage ditches to maintain the walkways against the elements. Not only would this ease the travels for small folk and Nobles alike, but it would also help speed up the transport of goods between the various holdfasts.

Based on his estimation, Brandon figured it would take anywhere between five to seven years to complete all the roads he had in mind. This in turn, would provide plenty of jobs for the small folk that wanted to continue working in construction.

Brandon was pulled from his thoughts when he heard his father's deep baritone voice call out his name. "Yes father?" he replied.

"Are you with us now, lad? Lady Alys has been trying to get your attention for the past several minutes."

Brandon looked towards the beautiful blonde sitting next to his father and said, "My apologies, Lady Alys, but I was lost in my thoughts for a moment. I'm afraid I do not recall what you asked of me."

Alys smiled at her Lord and replied, "It's not a problem, Lord Brandon. I was just curious if you were ready to begin."

Brandon barely managed to contain the wince from appearing on his face. The night's meeting was in regards to the future Lady Stark, and as much as he would wish otherwise, there was no way to avoid the discussion. "Of course, my Lady. Let us start when you are ready."

When she saw both father and son look at her intently, Alys turned her attention towards the younger of the two and said," Before I began my recent travels through Westeros, Lord Stark instructed me to find a suitable wife for you and gave me four criteria the woman would need to meet."

"I see," Brandon replied hesitantly. "And pray tell, what would these criteria entail?"

Alys' lips twitched with a barely contained smile. Over the past fourteen years, she'd seen Brandon grow from a brilliant boy to an incredible man. In all of that time, on every occasion he was met with adversity, he did so without an ounce of fear. It amused her that such a giant of a man would now be afraid at the mere thought of marriage.

"Your father had four specific requirements, my Lord," Alys answered. "The first, that the future Lady Stark had to be beautiful. The second, that she be intelligent enough to not only help with any further plans you may have for the North but to also take over the running of Winterfell if you are away for an extended period of time. The third, that she has the strength of will to be accepted by your Vassals, especially if the woman you choose comes from the South. And lastly, that she comes from a House that could provide House Stark with political influence in the future."

"And how many candidates were you able to find, my Lady?" Brandon asked curiously.

Alys winced at the question, knowing full well Rickard wasn't going to be pleased. "While I do have nineteen candidates for you to choose from, I'm afraid none of them are from the Great Houses."

"Why not?" Rickard asked, his irritation easily evident for any to hear. "I believe the task I gave you was simple enough."

"Because, Lord Stark, the majority of children born to the Great Houses are either sons or daughters that are too young for marriage at this time. If you are willing to wait a few years than more choices will become available for your son."

As much as Brandon wanted to push talks about his marriage to a later date, the mere thought of having to marry a girl younger than his sister Lyanna, made him sick to his stomach. While such a thing was certainly acceptable amongst the Nobility of Westeros, due to his memories from Xander and Alex, the young wolf had no desire to have a wife that much younger than him.

"I know this may not be what you wanted to hear, father, but Lady Alys cannot be blamed for the lack of choices available to her," Brandon remarked, hoping to appease his father's ire. "Let us at least hear about the women she has deemed suitable for me."

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, Rickard nodded his head and replied, "Aye, lad, you're right. The Lady cannot find a flower where one does not exist, and it would be foolish of me to be upset over the fact. Let us see what the good Lady has found for you."

Alys flashed Brandon a grateful smile for his helpful words and then turned to look at Rickard. "I have selected women all throughout the Seven Kingdoms and three of them are from the North. The first girl is Jaelyn Cassel. As the eldest daughter of Ser Rodrik..."

"Not her," Brandon immediately interrupted.

"And why not?" Rickard asked, more curious than upset over the rejection.

"Because Greatjon is madly in love with her and I know for a fact that Lord Umber will be approaching the Cassels for a betrothal soon enough. I would not knowingly come between a friend and his Lady, especially when we have other options available to us."

When Alys saw Rickard nod his head in agreement, she continued, "The final two options in the North come from the same House. Bethany and Barbary Ryswell are both..."

This time it was Rickard that called out with a firm rejection. "Not them," he said with a small growl. "I will not marry my son to anyone from a House so familiar with the Boltons."

After a decade of living in the North and working with Rickard, Alys was already expecting the response in regards to the Ryswells, but she thought it her duty to mention every available candidate to her employer.

"Very well, my Lord," she replied patiently. "From here we move to the Riverlands. Outside of the Freys, whom I doubt you want to associate with, the only House in the kingdom with daughters even close to marriageable age is House Tully. Unfortunately, Lady Catelyn is currently three and ten and her sister a year younger. While a union with House Tully would be a great boon for your House, unless you and Lord Brandon are willing to wait a few years for Lady Catelyn to be ready, in my opinion either girl would be better matched with Lord Ned or Lord Benjen."

As much as he wished it were otherwise, Rickard wholeheartedly agreed with Alys' recommendation. The Tully girls were simply too young to marry his eldest son, and while waiting was on option, he had no desire to do so at the time. However, the thought of a union between both Houses was very appealing to the man. Not only was House Tully one of the Great Houses, but due to the border they shared with the North, they were also strategically placed to assist his House in case of an attack against the North.

With Jon Arryn's fostering at Winterfell and Ned's fostering at the Vale, the ties between the two kingdoms have never been stronger. If Rickard could secure a marriage between Ned and one of the Tully girls, the alliance that could form between the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale, would be strong enough to make the whole of Westeros take notice. If you add in whatever House Brandon's wife would come from, the North would finally have the political strength its been lacking for all of these years.

"A marriage between Ned and one of the Tully girls will certainly be something for us to look into in the future," Rickard replied. "But for now, we should move on to candidates closer in age to Brandon. I would have my son take up his Lordship as soon as possible, and it's best he does so with a wife by his side."

Alys nodded her head in agreement, pleased that Rickard was so amiable to her suggestion. "In the Vale, the three best options I found for Lord Brandon, were unfortunately married or betrothed within the past year. The only House with a daughter that comes close to matching the requirements you gave me, is Lady Amber of House Waynwood."

Brandon could see that Alys wasn't thrilled with the suggestion and found himself curious as to why. "My apologies if I am wrong, Lady Alys, but it seems you aren't too pleased with the thought of Lady Elys."

Alys shook her head in reply and said, "It's not that I dislike her in any way, but she is considered by many to be a wallflower. Her beauty and intelligence would mean nothing if she couldn't gain the acceptance of your Vassals. Besides, with the strong bond House Arryn already shares with House Stark, marrying into a lesser House of the Vale would do you no favors, my Lord."

Rickard grunted in agreement. If his son was going to marry a girl from a lesser House, he saw no reason for it to be in the Vale. Politically there was no benefit for the North, and he couldn't see a timid girl stand by his son. "Your advice is much appreciated, my Lady. If there is no other worthy House in the Vale than let us move on to the next candidate."

"The next kingdom on the list is the Westerlands. Much like with House Tully, House Lannister has a daughter, but Lady Cersei is the same age as Lady Catelyn."

Brandon snorted at the thought of marrying a Lannister. While he'd never met Tywin himself, he heard many a tale of how ruthless and controlling the old lion could be. "Let us skip the Westerlands altogether. Regardless of which House you suggest, I have no doubt they are already deeply indebted to the Lannisters, and I have no wish to have a wife that's a spy for Lord Tywin."

After a moments thought, Rickard couldn't help but agree with his son's decision. Unfortunately, this meant any House from the Reach would also be a problem to marry into for the same reason.

"I agree with you, lad. Tywin is a right bastard and has his fingers tightly wrapped around the throats of every House sworn to him. Marrying any girl from the Westerlands would most likely result in the Lannisters knowing all of our secrets. Unfortunately, this sentiment also holds true for the Tyrells and the Reach. I've met Olenna Tyrell several times in my youth and she's just as ruthless as the old lion but twice as cunning. The second she learns of any House in the Reach marrying into our own, she would do everything in her power to make the girl a puppet she controlled."

Alys sighed softly to herself. While she agreed in principle to her Lord's reasoning, it also removed the majority of candidates she had to offer. "I'm sorry, Lord Stark, but without the Westerlands and the Reach to choose from, I only have three women left for you to decide upon."

Father and son looked at each other in surprise, neither one expecting the loss of so many options. In the end, they silently agreed it was for the best. Tywin and Olenna were both masters of the Great Game and for the betterment of the North, it would be wise to stay clear of any influence they could have on Brandon's future wife.

Brandon flashed a kind smile at the obviously frustrated woman and said, "It's not your fault, Lady Alys. You had no idea my father and I would take such a decision, so let us move on to the last candidates."

"Of course, Lord Brandon," Alys replied, thankful that the pair were so understanding of the situation. "Of the three Houses left on my list, the one with the greatest political influence is House Velaryon. Since they usually marry someone from House Targaryen every two to three generations, they are without a doubt the closest and most loyal House to the throne. Furthermore, due to their close proximity to the Gullet, the Velaryons are able to fill their coffers well from trade in the Narrow Sea and Blackwater Bay. With their established connections, they would be an ideal source to help with the expansion of Northern goods in the future."

While he couldn't deny the benefits of marrying a woman from such a House, Brandon was surprised Alys didn't mention anything about said girl. "And what of the Lady I would marry?" Brandon asked.

Alys winced at the question, but still dutifully answered Brandon. "Lady Baela is a beautiful woman, my Lord."

Brandon arched an eyebrow at the minimal response. It was something he wasn't used to from his Mistress of Whispers. "What aren't you telling us, Lady Alys?"

"My apologies, Lord Brandon, but there is no polite way to answer that question."

"Than fuck being polite and speak your mind, Alys" Rickard replied with a grunt "I would know the truth about the girl now, regardless of how bad it is."

"Baela is an idiot, my Lord. She was raised believing she would marry Prince Rhaegar one day and has no idea how to run a House, let alone a Kingdom. Outside of knowing the latest fashions in Myr and being able to plan elaborate balls, she is good for little else."

"Than why even suggest her?" Brandon asked, bemused by Alys' reasoning.

"Because I have very few options left to give you, and despite what a poor choice Lady Baela would make as a wife, her House would provide House Stark with incredible political influence. It is no secret in the court that his Grace values the opinion of Lord Velaryon almost as much as he does his Hand. The only reason Lady Baela wasn't chosen to marry his son, was because the King wanted a closer connection to Dorne."

Rickard thought long and hard about the political advantage House Velaryon could provide for the North, but in the end decided against it. As useful as such a connection could be, for now House Stark didn't need it. In a few years, if he could get Lord Tully to agree, a marriage between one of his daughters and Ned would go a long ways towards increasing House Stark's influence. As such, he saw no reason to burden his son with a poor wife like Baela.

When he saw both Alys and Brandon waiting for him to speak, he shook his head and replied, "House Velaryon's influence is not enough to overlook Lady Baela's incompetence. My son deserves a wife that is his equal and as far as I am concerned, that's exactly what he shall have."

Unknowingly, both Alys and Brandon sighed softly in relief. While they were both fairly certain Rickard wouldn't marry a girl like Baela to his son, it wasn't easy to overlook the benefits such a union would provide for House Stark.

Alys took a moment to gather her thoughts and then said, "The next woman on my list is Lady Veronica Estermont. The eldest daughter of Lord Estermont's second wife, she is the half-sister of the now late Cassana Baratheon."

"Isn't that Robert's mother?" Brandon asked, remembering a Raven he received from Ned in regards to his friends a few years back.

"Yes, my Lord," Alys answered. "Three years ago the King began a search for a suitable bride to marry Prince Rhaegar and sent Lord Steffon to Volantis to look at possible candidates. On his return home, the ship he and Lady Cassana were on sank in Shipbreaker Bay. At the time of their death, Lord Estermont was named the Steward of the Stormlands in Lord Roberts absence, but in truth due to his age and illness, it is Lady Veronica that runs things."

Rickard grunted in approval. "That is impressive. What else can you tell us about her?"

"Lady Veronica is considered to be a true beauty all throughout the Stormlands, and with her father often absent, has the strength of will to ensure the Houses sworn to House Baratheon follow her decree. While she was still alive, Lady Cassana was said to dote on her sister often and she is also known to be close to Lord Robert. Overall, even with the addition of the candidates I had from the Westerlands and the Reach, Lady Veronica was my second favorite choice for Lord Brandon."

For the second time that day, father and son looked at each other in surprise. So far Lady Veronica was a perfect choice to become the future Lady Stark. She was beautiful, intelligent, strong of will and came from the second strongest House in the Stormlands. Between Ned's friendship with Robert and Veronica being a favored aunt, House Stark would have incredible influence over the future Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Needless to say, the pair was left wondering why Alys had her marked as the second best choice.

"If Lady Veronica is whom you consider being your second favorite, I certainly look forward to knowing who your first choice will be," Rickard stated.

Alys grinned confidently at both father and son, then turned towards Rickard and said, "My first choice, my Lord, would be Lady Ashara of House Dayne. In all my travels throughout Westeros and Essos, I can honestly say few women are capable of matching Lady Ashara's beauty. Since beauty was the first of the four requirements you gave to me, I can assure you she has it in spades."

Brandon felt his jaw drop at the proclamation. Alys was easily one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen in his life and for her to describe another in such a manner, was high praise indeed.

Unaware of the thoughts running through his son's head Rickard wanted to know more about Alys' first choice, "Beauty is but one of the requirements I gave you, my Lady. What else can you tell us about her?"

"At the age of nine, Lady Ashara was fostered at Sunspear so she could be a companion for Princess Elia. Her time with the Princess is also the reason why she completes the intelligence portion of your stated requirements."

Rickard was just as bemused by the statement, as his son was and asked, "How does where she was fostered equate to her having intelligence?"

"In Dorne, the eldest child inherits regardless of gender," Alys explained. "While Prince Doran would succeed Princess Deria, as the second oldest of her living children, Princess Elia was taught how to govern a Kingdom similar to her brother. As a result of her fostering, House Martell provided the same education for her companion. Two years ago, when Lady Ashara returned to Starfall, she used that education to save her House from the Iron Bank."

"And how exactly did she do that?," Brandon asked, Alys' confidence in the Dornish woman making the young wolf more interested in knowing everything about her.

"To answer that question, you first need to know about the debt House Dayne owes to the Iron Bank. Roughly twenty-five years ago, the current Lord Dayne's grandfather borrowed a significant amount of money from the Braavosi. Unfortunately, whatever scheme he had in mind for the gold fell through and the past two generations have been paying dearly for his mistake. Between the high-interest rate the loan was taken under and the minimal income House Dayne makes per year, they have been bleeding themselves dry trying to pay the bank back. As of two years ago, House Dayne was completely out of funds and missed three consecutive payments to the Iron Bank."

Brandon whistled softly at the news. The Braavosi bankers were not a group to be taken lightly. Regardless of whether you were a simple merchant or the King of Westeros, if you owed them money, the Iron Bank was said to always have its due. For Lord Dayne to miss multiple payments to the bankers, was a sure sign of them sending him a response he wouldn't like. Often times such a message was sent at the hands of the Faceless Men.

"I take it Lady Ashara is responsible for her father's continued presence amongst the living," Brandon stated.

Alys nodded her head in answer. "That she is, my Lord. Two years ago when she returned to Starfall and learned of the problems her father was facing with the bank, she quickly worked out a solution to appease the Braavosi. Through connections she made during her time at Sunspear, she knew of a merchant that specialized in trading Dornish goods throughout the South. She undercut his current supplier, House Yronwood, by a third and nearly tripled House Dayne's yearly income."

"That...is very impressive," Rickard stated. "Lady Ashara clearly has a good head on her shoulders, and I am more than convinced of her intelligence. But what of the last two requirements?"

Despite her emotionless facade, Alys was pleased with the way things were turning out. She truly believed Ashara was the best choice to become the next Lady Stark and she intended to prove her reasoning to the Starks.

"The House of Dayne is known for producing some of the finest swordsmen in the history of Dorne. According to what my network was able to learn, in her youth Lady Ashara wished to follow in her ancestor's footsteps. Unfortunately, she was denied this opportunity by her father, who wanted her to be a proper lady. During her time at Sunspear, the Martells were far more lenient to her desire. Under the tutelage of Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper of Dorne, Lady Ashara was taught how to fight with both daggers and spears."

"On Princess Elia's sixteenth name day, a drunk man attempted to become overly familiar with the Princess and paid for his indiscretion with a dagger pinning his hand to the table. This was done courtesy of Lady Ashara. It's also the reason why the Martell siblings often refer to her as the Desert Rose with thorns of steel."

The moment he heard Ashara's given title, Rickard let loose a bellowing laugh. The Lady in question was quickly becoming the ideal wife his eldest son would need and he could easily see why Alys felt the same way. Though he was certain Ashara was the best choice, the Head of House Stark still wanted to know what Alys would say in regards to his last requirement.

"I must admit, my Lady, your favorite choice has certainly gone above and beyond in fulfilling any expectations I may have for three of my given requirements. But what of the last requirement? What influence can she offer my House in this union? From the little you've told of us of House Dayne, I doubt they are in any position to help us now or in the future."

Though she nodded her head in agreement with Rickard's statement, Alys was still convinced in her reasoning.

"While it's true that House Dayne lacks the influence of House Estermont, the same can not be said of Lady Ashara," the blonde replied confidently. "According to my network, Princess Deria loves Ashara almost as much as she does her own daughter, and the Martell siblings consider her to be a sister in all but blood. With Prince Doran now ruling over Dorne and Princess Elia the future Queen of Westeros, Lady Ashara's influence exceeds that of either House. Both now and in the future, her position as Lady Stark will only benefit your House, my Lord."

As he leaned back in his chair, Brandon couldn't help but agree with Alys. From everything he learned of Ashara today, he found himself wanting to know even more about her. She seemed the type of woman he could come to love one day, and he greatly desired to meet her for himself.

"I have made my decision, father," Brandon exclaimed. "I would have you send out a Raven to Lord Dayne right away. I believe I have found the woman I am to marry."

* * *

 **Casting:**

Brandon Stark: Chris Hemsworth

Eddard Stark: Young Liam Hemsworth

Rickard Stark: Karl Urban

Alys Lentalos: Scarlett Johansson

Hotto: Idris Elba

Rickard Karstark: Russell Crowe

Greatjon Umber: Dwayne Johnson(His Hercules look, not his current bald one)

Meng Lo: Michelle Yeoh

Pan Kai: Lucy Liu

Yang Kai: Kelly Hu

* * *

 **A/N:** While I understand why everyone keeps mentioning the first daughter/second aspect of the Caitlin/Ned pairing, what people aren't acknowledging is the lack of sons available amongst the Great Houses.

Stark:Brandon

Tyrell: Mace(married); only has two sisters

Arryn: None

Martell:Doran was already married by this time; Oberyn is a second son

Lannister: Jamie joins the Kingsguard at 15; No one will intentionally marry Tyrion, especially if they know Tywin would rather wait till he had a grandson to name an heir rather than let a half-man rule over Casterly Rock

Baratheon: Robert will be betrothed to Lyanna

Greyjoy: Lol...that's not happening regardless of their Great House status

Targaryen: Rhaegar is already married to Elia at this point

While I agree Tully is all about securing the most he can for his daughter's hand in marriage, the second son of a Great House is a better choice than the first son of a lesser House. When you add in the sudden riches of House Stark and the North as a whole, the Riverlands would be better suited in forming an alliance with the their neighbors over anyone else.

At one point in the chapter after next, Hoster and Brenden will visit the North for a meeting on opening up Trade talks between the two Houses, and Rickard will subtly use the visit to show Tully the value of marrying one of his daughters to Ned. The Lysa marriage will result from something else during the Rebellion portion of my fic, but still have connotations of a second daughter marrying the third son of a rich House like Stark(Benjen will become Lord of Black Harbor, which will be one of the richest holdings in all of Westeros). I hope this helps explain why I have Tully not only accepting but even eager to marry his daughter/s into House Stark.


	3. Ashara Interlude

**A/N: I am so sorry for the delay, but I have been swamped the past few months. Some of you that sent me a PM know that I recently bought a house and began renovating it. Well...as of now the renovations have gone ballistic. Our original plans have changed once again and now we are adding even more square footage. This means going back to the city for new permits, which results in less time for me to write. I will try my hardest to get new chapters up as soon as I get them finished, but this will mean they won't be as long as the first two chapters for this story. Thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope enjoy the new update.**

 **276: Sunspear(Ashara's Room)**

At nine and ten, the 5'8" Ashara Dayne was a woman grown. A rare beauty, the violet-eyed Lady of House Dayne possessed an hourglass figure that any woman would die for. Her long legs and flat stomach were toned from countless hours spent learning the spear in the Martell family training yards, though more often than not, it was her voluptuous breasts and firm ass that made men and women alike lust after her routinely.

Despite having three siblings of her own, Ashara grew up as lonely as an orphan. At the tender age of three Name-days, her mother passed away giving birth to her younger sister, Allyria. Born six weeks premature, in her early years, Allyria was constantly battling one illness after the other. Always the dutiful daughter, Ashara regularly helped the Maester and wet nurse in taking care of her younger sister. Unfortunately, it wasn't until she left for Sunspear that Allyria grew strong enough in body to not require constant care or supervision. As for her older brothers, the less said about them the better.

Andrew Dayne was the eldest of Lord Beric's children and in spite of being their father's named heir, his numerous insecurities made him impossible to be around. Though intelligent and charismatic in his own right, Andrew resented Ashara for being smarter than him and was forever envious of his younger brother's immense skill with the sword. Try as she might to convince him otherwise, Ashara's eldest brother was always quick to dismiss her platitudes at every turn.

Whereas Andrew was distant from her due to his self-conscious nature, Ashara's other brother was not apart of her life, simply because he chose not to be. From an early age, Arthur was recognized as a once in a lifetime prodigy with the sword, a fact that fueled his obsession with becoming the next Sword of the Morning. His talents were so great, that Lord Beric spent money he didn't have to hire the finest swordsmen in Westeros and Essos, to help his son achieve his life's dream. Since Arthur's every waking moment was spent training with his swords in the yard, there was little if any time for him to spend with his siblings.

Only by the Grace of the Seven, was Ashara eventually saved from her loneliness. A mere week after her ninth Name-day, in the hopes of securing a betrothal between Ashara and one of the Martell Princes, Lord Beric arranged for her to be fostered at Sunspear. Unfortunately for him, his plan was not meant to be. From the moment she arrived at the Palace, the Martell siblings accepted her in a manner she never was in her own home.

Doran was the perfect older brother. Equally kind and generous, he was always willing to offer Ashara advice whenever she was in need. Meanwhile, Elia quickly became the best friend and confidant Ashara once hoped her own sister could have been for her. Finally, Oberyn was the annoying younger brother who constantly followed her and Elia around like a lost puppy, yet didn't hesitate to shower her with the love and attention her younger self often longed for from her own siblings. Even though she was old enough to realize what her father intended of her, the bond Ashara willingly chose to form with the Martell siblings was that of a sister and a best friend.

It was a decision she didn't regret to this day, but one whose consequences she never truly expected. As a daughter of a Noble House, Ashara always knew she would marry for duty. It was a fact ingrained into her mind even as a child, but never in wildest dreams did she think her marriage would require her to leave Dorne forever. Especially not for the frozen lands of the North.

As she looked down from the balcony to the docks below her, Ashara's piercing violet gaze took in the sight of a half dozen large and intimidating Dromonds. Over a hundred and fifty feet in length, each of the massive ships were made from a type of dark wood she had never seen before. The ebony colored War-Galleys proudly bore the sigil of House Stark upon their pearly white sails and soon enough they would be used to carry her away from her friends, her family and the only home she had ever known. That alone should have been a daunting thought for her, yet Ashara found herself oddly excited by the future she would soon face.

The unexpected sound of heavy footsteps made Ashara aware of another presence behind her. When she turned around, she smiled at the sight of Princess Deria walking into her room.

At seven and forty, the 5'7" former ruler of Dorne was still considered by many a man to be a breathtaking beauty. Though short in stature when compared to most of her contemporaries, the Princess had such a commanding presence, that it often left men twice her size green with envy.

Dressed in a backless crimson gown that flared loosely below the hips, her normally shoulder length black hair was meticulously placed in a tight bun upon her head and adorned with a magnificent set of rubies that subtly accentuated her viper-like black eyes. Her entire appearance exuded that of a beautiful but unassuming Lady, a deception that both Ashara and Elia learned to mimic from her at an early age.

"Good morning, Princess," Ashara called out in greeting. "How may I help you?"

Deria's eyes narrowed at the formal mode of address. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that, Ashara," she replied in an irritated manner.

Ashara's answering laugh was one that left many a man and woman enthralled by its angelic melody. "I'm sorry for teasing you, mother Deria, but I couldn't help myself. The past few days have been very stressful for me and I just needed good a laugh. Please forgive me for the poor jest."

As she stared into the bewitchingly violet eyes of the younger woman in front of her, Deria couldn't help but smile fondly at her daughter in all but blood. It took many years for the pair to develop the relationship they now shared and often times it pained Deria to recall the feelings she once held for her ward.

If not for the favor she owed the previous Lord of House Dayne, Deria would never have considered fostering Ashara at Sunspear. From the moment he asked it of her, the Princess was easily able to deduce Beric's intentions of securing a betrothal between his daughter and one of her sons. At the time it was a plan Deria decided she would never allow to fruition. For all the prestige the House of Dayne held for carrying the blood of the First Men in their veins, as the former ruler of House Martell, the Princess knew such claims were useless when it came to surviving the Game of Thrones.

At that particular time in her life, for the betterment of House Martell, money, influence and power were all that mattered to Deria. Unfortunately, these were all things the poor House of Dayne could never offer either one of her sons. As such, it was also the main reason why the Princess decided early on that Ashara held little value as a good daughter for her House. Now, all these years later, Deria could readily admit her short-sighted viewpoint was easily one of the greatest regrets she had in her life.

Back when she was still a babe of seven name days, Deria's father began teaching her everything she would need to not only take part in but also to survive the Great Game all the Noble Houses played in the South. Like a sponge, she absorbed every bit of knowledge and advice the man had to offer. By the time she was ready to lead House Martell herself, Deria was the perfect blend of beauty, intelligence, cunning, charisma and ruthlessness. Over the years, each one of those qualities was instrumental in helping her keep Dorne unmolested by the rest of Westeros. Sadly, none of her children inherited the "full package" that she and her father were gifted with.

While Doran was certainly handsome, intelligent and cunning, her eldest child lacked the charisma needed to win the hearts of those who followed him. As for ruthlessness, it was there, but not in the manner Deria was hoping for. Her heir was far too fond of waiting for the "right moment" to attack, not realizing that such a thing did not truly exist in the real world. In life, as well as in the Great Game, sometimes the greatest risk came from not having the balls to make a decision.

In regards to the second of her given children, as greatly as she loved her true daughter, in comparison to her older brother, Elia sadly inherited even less of Deria's ideal qualities. Though incredibly intelligent and beautiful, the future Queen of Westeros lacked the charisma, cunning, and ruthlessness that was needed to be a good ruler. It was easy to blame these inherent deficiencies on Elia's chronic bouts of illness, but deep down Deria knew her daughter was simply a kind child incapable of dealing with the harshness that came with being a leader of a Great House.

Finally, there was her youngest child. Easily one of the most handsome men in all of Dorne, Oberyn had in spades the charisma, cunning, and ruthlessness that Deria desired in her chosen heir. What he lacked was intelligence. While he wasn't stupid by any means, her youngest son was a man ruled by his emotions. More often than not, this was the result of him listening to the head between his legs and not the one on his shoulders. Out of all her children, Oberyn showed the most potential to be a ruler, but his incessant need to give in to his carnal desires also made him the poorest option to be one.

Despite the unending love she felt for each one of her children, over time Deria reluctantly accepted that neither of the three would ever be the type of rulers she and her father had been. In the end, she hoped to either live long enough to discover her real successor in one of her grandchildren, or at the very least, find her children a suitable match that could cover up their inherent shortcomings. It wasn't until Ashara's fourth year at Sunspear, did Deria realize the person she had long been searching for was right under her nose the whole time.

The girl Deria had written off as unworthy during their first meeting, turned out to be the heir she longed to see in one of her own children. Even at the young age of three and ten, Ashara's beauty was considered to be almost otherworldly by any who laid eyes upon her. Her charisma was such that it drew even the staunchest of naysayers like a moth to a flame, while her ruthlessness was evident in the way she dealt with any who wished to take advantage of her or those that she cared about. But in Deria's mind, what set her apart from the rest of her children was the young woman's innate intelligence and cunning.

To this day the Princess could vividly recall when she first realized Ashara's true worth. At the time she had been lecturing her children on the finer points of trade both within and outside of Dorne, when the young upstart suddenly interrupted her. Normally silent in her presence, the unexpected outburst left Deria surprised long enough to actually pay heed to her suggestion.

Ashara's proposal not only boosted trade between House Martell and House Fowler, thus increasing both of their coffers significantly, but it also subtly affected the prosperity of House Yronwood. A longtime rival of the Martells and considered by many to be the second strongest House in Dorne, Deria was thrilled to decrease the fortunes of her least favorite vassal.

The brilliant idea instantly drew the Princess' attention to the girl and she suddenly found herself interacting more often with her young ward. As the years passed and her wariness of Ashara was replaced by maternal feelings of love, the Princess finally realized what a huge mistake she had made. Unfortunately, by the time this epiphany occurred to her, it was far too late to change the bonds formed between her foster daughter and her blood children.

Though she grudgingly accepted that Ashara could no longer be her hand-picked good daughter, Deria wasn't foolish enough to discard the future benefits the young woman could still have for her House. Due to the connection Ashara now held with the entirety of the Martell family, whatever House she married into, with the proper guidance, could easily be used to further the interests of her own House.

It was for this reason that Deria spent the past year in search of a suitable groom for her daughter in all but blood. But as luck would have it, her self appointed quest became meaningless with the sudden reveal of Ashara's betrothal to Brandon Stark. The moment Deria received the Raven from Lord Beric, it took all her willpower not to send the man a scathing letter in reply.

While she had nothing against the House itself, Northerners were well known for their reclusive natures, as well as their blatant disinterest in playing the Great Game. Monetarily, though not poor by any sense of the word, the Starks were not known for their vast riches. At first glance Deria considered the union a waste to the Houses of Dayne and Martell, only to learn of the new trade opportunities the Starks were willing to provide for both Houses.

The sheer number of goods offered by the North was baffling in and of itself, but Deria's shock was further compounded by the newly found demeanor of the Starks. In her youth, while searching for a suitable consort for her to marry, Deria's father had been meticulous enough in his search to find the right groom for his daughter, that he even visited the various Nobles in the lands of Winter. In the brief time she spent at Winterfell, the Princess could honestly say she didn't think much of the Castle or its inhabitants. Rickard Stark was everything she imagined all Northerners to be. Tall, proud, gruff and completely incapable of helping House Martell prosper in any way. After meeting with the man for a second time, the same could no longer be said of him, his son, or his House.

A marriage she was initially opposed to was now something she couldn't wait to see realized. Between Elia's marriage to Prince Rhaegar and Ashara's marriage to Brandon Stark, both Dorne and House Martell were poised to become stronger than they had ever been before.

The Princess was pulled from her musings when she heard Ashara ask, "What are you thinking of, mother? Perhaps, dreams of what my marriage could entail for House Martell?"

"I won't deny my thoughts on the matter," Deria replied honestly. "You may not be of my blood, child, but never doubt that I love you as if you were one of my own. As beneficial as this marriage will be for your father and House Dayne, I can also see the value of this union for House Martell. What I want to know right now, is what are your thoughts on the matter?"

Ashara didn't bother to deny the statement. Despite being born a Dayne, she truly found her family with the Martells. From the moment she arrived at Sunspear, she was loved and cared for in a manner, far beyond anything she ever felt by those of her blood. If not for the value her marriage could have for her father, she didn't think Beric would even remember her existence. Sadly, the same could also be said of her so-called brothers. The only person she still considered family at Starfall, was her little sister Allyria. The endless Ravens she received from the little girl, was proof enough that her sister was the only one of her blood family that never forgot about her.

"I didn't get see my betrothed for long, mother, but he's certainly tall and good looking. I wonder if all those muscles will equate to how much stamina he has as a lover?"

Deria rolled her eyes at the crude question and replied, "Yes, yes. I'm sure his cock is blessed by the Mother herself and he will no doubt fuck you senseless with it night after night. Now stop speaking words I can hear from any silly little girl off the street and show me how well you have learned from my teachings."

Ashara smirked at the Princess' crassness, having heard it often growing up. Unlike the rest of Westeros, women in Dorne were far more open to express their views. As part of her training under her surrogate mother, Ashara learned how effective such speech could be with a lover. After all, every man wanted a Lady on their arm and a whore in their bed.

When she saw Deria's eyes narrow into slits, Ashara quickly recognized the tell tell signs of the woman's growing irritation. Taking a deep breath to gather herself, she tried to recall everything she learned of her betrothed at their brief meeting a day ago.

"Despite his abnormal largeness, Brandon Stark is far more than just a mere brawler. The way he moves belies a grace that I have often seen with my brother Arthur and I wouldn't be surprised if he could match the speed of men half his size. Furthermore, the manner in which he analyzed the various entrances and exits into the throne room, as well as the constant tracking of all the Martell guards that were around him, shows he's been trained to think as well as fight."

Deria couldn't help but nod her head in agreement at the assessment, having noticed the same thing for herself. "What else, girl?"

"While Lord Rickard's mode of speech was more indicative of what we have come to expect from the Northerners, his son's distinct elocution is more likely to be found amongst the Nobles at King's Landing or even the Flowers of Highgarden. Lord Brandon obviously had proper etiquette training growing up, though clearly he doesn't enjoy speaking in such a manner. As for their appearance, the ensemble worn by father and son was easily expensive enough to make most minor Houses think twice about its purchase. Between the gold laced embroidery and the fine silk custom tailored to fit their bodies perfectly, their outfits would easily cost several hundred Dragons a piece. Normally the Starks are not known for such an extravagance. If ever the term 'A wolf in sheep's clothing' was more evident, I certainly cannot think of it."

"An observation I found very much to be true, my dear," Deria remarked, her eyebrows scrunching together as she thought about the two men in question. "In the meeting I had with the Starks, Andrew and your father last night, the young wolf's knowledge in trade and economics far surpassed that of anyone I have ever dealt with before. Frankly, Beric and I had to fight tooth and nail for every little advantage that could be gained for our respective Houses and even now I'm uncertain as to how well we really did. As exhilarating as the experience was, it's clear Brandon Stark's education has not been a normal one. His intelligence surely gave credence to the rumors I heard about him long ago. Enough for me to ask Maester Caleotte to confirm them with the Citadel."

The mere thought of her mother figure being bested in any form of negotiations caused Ashara's eyes to widen in surprise. Over the years she'd seen firsthand Deria's version of ruthless diplomacy and to date, the woman had never left the table without the upper hand. For the Princess to acknowledge her betrothed as a worthy foe, made Ashara's heart skip a beat.

Unlike most women, Ashara wasn't drawn to physical appearance alone. In spite of the way people look at her, she knew her beauty was only skin deep and that it wouldn't take long for it to fade away. Intelligence, however, could age like a fine wine. It was a trait Ashara found to be incredibly attractive in a man, but given her previous experiences with the named heirs from the various Dornish Noble Houses she'd previously met, it was also a quality she had long ago forsaken to find in her future husband.

"What rumors do you speak of?," Ashara asked curiously.

"Those that say he joined the Maesters at the Citadel when he was no more than a child of five name days."

Ashara snorted in an unladylike manner. "That's ridiculous, mother. The Maesters at the Citadel are far too pompous and arrogant to ever think of teaching a mere child the basics. It's more likely that he was visiting Oldtown with Lord Rickard and took a tour of the Citadel while he was there."

Deria nodded her head in agreement. "That was the same conclusion Maester Caleotte and I came up with when we first received the Raven all those years ago. Unfortunately, the War of the Ninepenny Kings was happening at the same time and by the time it was finally over we gave little thought to verify the veracity of the rumor. It wasn't until I learned of your betrothal that I had recalled what I knew of the boy and had Caleotte rectify the mistake with his friends at the Citadel."

"And pray tell, what did you learn, mother?"

The Princess rolled her eyes at the sudden blush that now adorned Ashara's cheeks. Much like herself, she knew her pseudo daughter was attracted to charismatic men with high levels of intelligence and cunning. Between the interactions she had with the boy last night and the Raven Caleotte received early this morning, it was obvious the young wolf had all three qualities in spades.

"What I have learned, is that Rickard has gone to great lengths to make sure his heir can interact with Southern Nobility," Deria replied with barely concealed mirth. "Something no other Stark Lord has done in the past."

Ashara had to force herself not pout at the lacking answer. "Is that all you have found out about him?"

Deria remained silent, momentarily enjoying the sulky expression on the younger woman's face. When she saw the pout turn to annoyance, she finally answered, "It seems the rumors were not mere hearsay, sweetling. From what Caleotte was able to discern from his contacts, Brandon Stark did indeed arrive there at the age of five. He stayed for only two and a half years, before leaving with forged links in math and economics, warcraft, medicine, smithing, animal husbandry, geography, cartography, and oddly enough, magic."

With each link that was mentioned, Ashara's eyes grew wider and her heart beat faster. Brandon Stark was quickly surpassing the hypothetical man of her dreams in every way.

"Why the hell doesn't everyone know about this? You have just described a once in a lifetime prodigy, mother, and I can't fathom how someone like that has been overlooked by the whole of Westeros."

Deria shrugged her shoulders in reply. "It's simply the result of unfortunate timing, my dear. The young Stark's arrival at the Citadel coincided with the end of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, which in turn allowed for his presence there to go largely unnoticed. By the time the Southern Houses were finished dealing with the aftermath of the war, news of the King's rapidly failing health was already spreading throughout Westeros like wildfire. With both the Nobles and the Citadel busy courting the favor of Prince Aerys the entire year leading up to his coronation, none of the Great Houses had the time to bother with rumors of a supposed boy genius. Especially when said boy came from the North."

Ashara took a moment to think through everything she learned of her betrothed. Though still amazed that someone like Brandon Stark could be overlooked by the majority of the Seven Kingdoms, Deria's explanation easily showed how such a thing was possible. The thought of spending the rest of her life with a man like that excited her in a manner she had never felt before and caused Ashara's arousal to grow with every breath that she took.

Unaware of her pseudo daughter's inner turmoil, Deria mused, "After meeting with them last night, it's obvious the Starks are trying to change their public image, but it goes far beyond them just showing off their unexpected wealth with a new wardrobe."

"How so?," Ashara asked curiously.

The Princess waved her hands towards the balcony behind her and said, "It's a well-known fact that Bran the Burner destroyed the last Northern Navy centuries ago. Yet now there are six War Galleys that proudly bear the sigil of House Stark anchored at the docks below us. Whatever the source of their newfound wealth may be, the North has clearly used it for more than just trade. What bothers me, is how they were able to keep all of these changes a secret from the rest of Westeros. House Martell has trusted informants implanted throughout several of the Noble Houses in the North and I can not believe that every single one of them failed to report even a hint of these changes."

"Indeed, mother," Ashara replied with a bemused smile. "A shift of this magnitude, from a Great House no less, should not be possible without the whole of the South knowing all about it. When you consider the numerous spies the Starks had to find and silence in order to keep their secrets from becoming known, there is no doubt in my mind that the North now employs a very talented Master of Whispers."

Ashara's statement struck a nerve in the Princess that she wasn't expecting. As the former ruler of Dorne, Deria knew well the difficulties involved in keeping one's secrets hidden from both your allies and enemies alike. For the Starks to have accomplished such a feat, meant their Master of Whispers was able to soundly overcome Lord Varys and his plethora of little birdies.

At eight and twenty, the current Spymaster of the King joined the Small Council only two years ago. A eunuch and a former slave, Varys was quick to show the court his prodigious intelligence and cunning. Though Deria had yet to ascertain the full extent of how his little birdies really worked, the Princess was confident the man's reach easily extended throughout most of Westeros and Essos. That the Starks were able to hide such massive changes from a man like him, made Deria not only wary of Varys' counterpart in the North, but also dismayed at what that person would mean for her own plans in regards to Ashara.

When she looked at the younger woman in question, it was clear Ashara had come to the same conclusion. Nonetheless, she still asked,"Do you realize what this means, child?"

"I do, mother. Once I marry, my loyalty to House Stark will have to supersede my loyalty to anyone else. I know you wished to influence my future husband for the betterment of House Martell, but that will no longer be possible. Not only is Brandon Stark too intelligent to be taken advantage of, but any thoughts of using me as a spy would easily be unearthed by the North's Spymaster. Based on what we have already learned of these new Starks, it would be incredibly foolish on our part to make an enemy of them."

The Princess briefly sighed at the thought of her now ruined plans, but her years of experience in playing the Game of Thrones allowed her to adapt quickly to the new situation. Despite how Southerners may have felt about the North or it's ruling House, there were few who were stupid enough to provoke them needlessly. With the recent changes the Starks had undergone, Deria was now even less inclined to make them an enemy.

"As much as I would wish it otherwise, my child, I must set you free, daughter."

Deria watched as Ashara's violet eyes began to glisten with tears at her decree and she gently wrapped her arms around the girl she had grown to love as much as her blood children. After a moment she leaned back from the embrace, gently placed her hand under Ashara's chin and lifted her head up.

"Just because my plans for you have fallen through, sweet child, does not mean my love for you is any less," the Princess said, as her own tears began to fall down her face. "You have learned all I have to teach you, Ashara, and out of all my children you are the best suited to rule. I have no doubt you will make a fine Lady Stark. I know your loyalty now must be first and foremost to the House of Stark, but promise me you will try to help Dorne whenever possible."

"I promise, mother," Ashara replied as she pulled Deria back into a tight embrace.

Once the two women finally drew apart, Ashara wiped the tears from her face and asked, "When will I be able to speak to my future husband?"

Deria winced at the question and reluctantly replied, "I'm afraid you won't be able to speak to him until you reach Winterfell, my dear."

"And why would that be?," Ashara asked, her voice tinged with both surprise and irritation.

"Because your brother is a fool," Deria answered. "Apparently Andrew is certain your intelligence will scare the Starks off from the betrothal and he convinced your father to keep you away from Lord Brandon until you reached the North."

Ashara rolled her eyes at her family's idiocy. House Dayne clearly had no leverage against the Starks and yet they were willing to risk losing the trade offers they so badly needed over something as trivial as her betrothed wanting to speak to her. "And the Starks just accepted this?"

Deria smirked at the question and said, "Not exactly, my dear. Since their attempts to court you were politely rebuffed by your father and brother, the young Lord demanded the wedding occur post haste. The Starks will leave for King's Landing tomorrow, so that Brandon may swear fealty to the King and officially take up his place as the new Lord Paramount of the North. Meanwhile, we will depart Dorne three days from now and your wedding will take place the day after you reach your new home."

"We? Does this mean you will be coming with me, mother?"

"Of course I will, you silly little girl," Deria replied with a mock huff. "Your father, myself and Oberyn will be accompanying you to Winterfell. You didn't think I would let you get married without me, did you?"

For yet another time that day, Ashara threw herself at her mother figure and wrapped her arms around the woman. "Thank you, mother," she whispered into the Princess' ear.

* * *

 **Casting:**

Ashara Dayne: Georgia Salpa

Princess Deria Martell: Catherine Zeta-Jones


	4. Welcome to Winterfell Lady Stark

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. Real life has been crazy and with the new house, I haven't had too much time to write. I hope you guys enjoy the update and I look forward to any comments you may have.**

 **MA:** Violence, Profanity, and Sex

 **Chapter 4: Welcome to Winterfell...Lady Stark**

 **276: Winterfell(Lord's Tower):**

As he made his way down the corridor of the Lord's Tower, Hotto couldn't help but marvel at the changes made to Winterfell. Five years ago, when he left the North to join Ned at the Eyrie, he left behind the only home he ever knew. At the time, the seat of House Stark was only a shell of the vision Brandon Stark once imagined for it. Now that the mighty Castle was finally finished, it looked far better than he could ever have thought possible.

Hotto was pulled from his musings when we heard someone call out his name. At the second call, he turned around to find Ned quickly making his way towards him. At five and ten the 5'9" youth already looked a man grown. Over the years his resemblance to his older brother had become significantly subdued. Where once he looked like Brandon reborn, now the lad had features that were distinctly all his own.

In many ways, the younger Stark had a thirst for knowledge that surpassed even that of his older brother. Though he was only one of the many teachers Ned had at the Eyrie, over the years Hotto had been impressed with the boy's dedication and hard work. Be it training in the yards, learning from Lord Arryn, or even assimilating the knowledge that Hotto personally received from Brandon during his own training with the Wolf Guard, not once did the boy complain or shirk from his duties. Physically, the results of his diligence were evident in Ned's most recent spars with his best friend, Robert Baratheon.

At 6'0" even, the Baratheon heir was a large boy with a boisterous personality that was on par with Hotto's brother in all but blood, Greatjon Umber. Robert's weapon of choice was a warhammer and with his prodigious strength, it was a weapon he was able to wield with devastating results. At first, the spars between Ned and Robert were always one-sided. Despite Lord Arryn's allowance of Hotto's presence at the Eyrie, the man refused to let Ned spar with the Ilysis Abra. He insisted on the little wolf learning the traditional sword forms from the Eyrie's Master at Arms and using that fighting style when sparring in the training yards.

After five years of back-breaking hard work, Ned finally mastered both the traditional Westerosi sword forms, as well as the katas associated with the Ilysis Abra. As far as Hotto was concerned, while Ned was talented with the Westerosi style, he was without a doubt gifted in the use of the Ilysis Abra. Once the Eyrie's Master at Arms acknowledged Ned's skills as a swordsman, this year Lord Arryn finally relented in letting his ward use whatever style he desired in the training yards.

Over the past six moons, the spars between the Baratheon and Stark heirs took a drastic turn in regards to the victor. Where previously their battles were close, but always ended in Robert's favor, with the use of the Ilysis Abra the reverse now holds true for Ned.

Due to Robert's greater size and strength, the hack and slash nature of the Westerosi sword forms always gave him an edge over Ned's shorter and leaner frame. The Ilysis Abra took away that advantage. With Ned no longer being forced to parry every attack with his blade, the new style allowed him to use his innate speed to overwhelm his opponent.

The sudden reversal of fortune left Lord Arryn shocked by the change and Robert enraged by the outcome. Though in the case of the latter, Hotto was pleased that Ned's victories didn't deter the strong bonds of friendship and brotherhood that had formed between him and the Baratheon heir. Instead, his continuous losses forced Robert to work harder and longer in the training yards, a fact that pleased Jon Arryn greatly, especially given Robert's recent penchant for drinking and whoring.

When he saw Ned patiently waiting for him to answer, Hotto smiled at the boy he'd come to see as a little brother and asked, "What can I do for you, little Wolf?

Where once he would have complained at being called by such a name, now Ned just rolled his eyes at the given epithet."I'm sorry to bother you, Hotto, but have you had a chance to read through the notes Brandon left for us?"

The Wolf Guard Captain wasn't the least bit surprised to see the same bundle of notes in Ned's hands, that he held in his own. Throughout their time at the Eyrie, Brandon was insistent on his brother knowing as much as possible about the various changes that were going on in the North, especially when it came to Black Harbor and Moat Cailin. As the second oldest of the Stark children, when he eventually completed his fostering at the Eyrie, Ned would have to choose which one of the new holdfasts he would become the Lord of upon his return.

"Aye, I have, little lord," Hotto answered with a nod of his head. "What troubles you about them?"

"If you haven't eaten yet, would you mind breaking your fast with me and answering some of the questions that I have?"

Once Hotto nodded his head in agreement, the pair made their way towards the private dining hall in the tower that was set aside for the Stark family and their personal guests. Upon their arrival, the pair took a seat and instructed a server to bring them a meal.

While he waited for Ned to finish placing his order with the server, Hotto quickly flipped through his copy of the notes Brandon left for him to peruse. Years ago, when the Starks first gifted the majority of their vassals with new trade items, his best friend and sworn Lord was adamant on finding something to help all of the Houses that he was unable to at the time.

Over the past six years, Brandon held true to his word and found a way to enrich most of the remaining Houses on his list. For House Tallhart of Torrhen's Square, he brought in Sugarcane and Sugar beets from a merchant that discovered both crops off the coast of Sothoryos. This, in turn, allowed them to become the major supplier of sugar for the whole of the North. Given enough time, Brandon was certain that the Tallharts would be able to produce enough high-quality sugar to easily provide for the rest of Westeros as well.

Meanwhile, the young wolf helped House Cassel open several distilleries to make Whiskey, Rum, and Vodka on their new lands, while also helping House Forrester start a half dozen breweries for the new Beers and Ales he created on their behalf. According to Brandon's notes, until now trade outside of the North had been limited to Braavos. Based on how well the Braavosi enjoyed the various beverages each House now produced, once trade opened up to the South and the rest of Essos, Hotto had no doubt that both Houses would fill their coffers like never before.

A few years back, upon the return of Brandon's Qartheen friend from his second trip to the lands of Yi Ti, House Cerwyn was gifted with a new crop called Potatoes, as well as several types of beans for them to grow. While the former's new appeal certainly helped House Cerwyn fill their coffers aplenty, as far as Hotto was concerned the latter crop was far more essential to the survival of Westeros as a whole during Winter. Already considered one of the staple foods in both the North and the South, when properly stored, beans could last for several years without going bad. This was particularly important for the North since Winters for them were far worse than the rest of the Seven Kingdoms combined and being able to grow anything outside of a glass garden was almost impossible during that time.

Unfortunately, in regards to House Mormont of Bear Island, Brandon was still uncertain how he could help them flourish like the rest of his vassals. One of the oldest and proudest Houses in the North, they were also one of the poorest vassals sworn to House Stark. The seat of House Mormont was little more than a wood-walled castle with a smoky keep. While the lands attached to the island were vast and larger in size than any other Lord could claim in the entirety of the North, sadly little of it was fertile enough to grow anything of substance. The Islanders mostly survived by hunting the small game that could be found in their forests and fishing in the crude boats that they built for themselves.

In years past, they made an ideal target for Ironborn raiders hoping to find salt wives to take back with them to the Iron Isles. Though the new Northern Navy now prevented any further incursions upon Mormont lands, Hotto knew how much it pained Brandon not to be able to help such a loyal House prosper.

After the departure of Brandon's Qartheen friend for the second time, without any goods to give to House Mormont, Brandon instead gifted them with a dozen properly made fishing boats and even offered to rebuild Mormont Keep with stone. Despite their hurt pride over the obvious handout, in his final act before taking the Black, Lord Jeor Mormont reluctantly agreed to the proposal, knowing how much it would help his people during the long Winters. With both Winterfell and Winter Town now complete, according to the notes Hotto had gone through, Brandon was finally able to keep his promise to the Mormonts by sending two shiploads worth of workers to build their new keep.

When Hotto saw that Ned had finished ordering his meal, he looked at him and asked, "Now, what questions do you have for me, little Wolf?"

Ned leaned back into his chair and took a quick sip of the lemon flavored water the server left for him. "I've gone through my brother's notes and for the most part they show how well the various Houses have been doing with the goods we gifted them a few years back. What surprises me is the amount of money being set aside for House Hornwood."

Hotto arched an eyebrow and replied, "What seems to be the problem, lad? Your brother's notes are quite clear on the matter."

Ned didn't answer straight away. Despite what other Lords in the South or even the North may think, Ned agreed wholeheartedly with his brother in bringing knowledge to the masses. The various changes brought to the North were not only due to Brandon's ideas but also because of the numerous small folk that were educated by the craftsman that were bought and freed by his brother so long ago. The surge of new ideas and men capable of implementing them was instrumental in making the North what it is today. What baffled the young Wolf was the amount of money being spent to create the new school on the lands of House Hornwood.

"They were, but it doesn't explain why we are spending so much gold on the new school. Between Winter Town, Moat Cailin, and Black Harbor, the North already has three schools that provide free education for the small folk. What makes the school for House Hornwood so special?"

"I don't know, lad, you tell me."

Ned groaned softly at the reply. Ever since his arrival at the Eyrie, unlike his conversations with Lord Arryn, Hotto rarely answered any of his questions directly. According to the man, as a future Lord, it was imperative for Ned to learn how to analyze and come up with a solution to a problem for himself. As helpful as a Maester or another adviser may be in the future, in the end, it was the Lord's responsibility to do what was best for his people. As such, it was necessary for Ned to learn how to think through each and every problem for himself.

As he leaned back into his chair, Ned thought through everything he knew about the House in question. Led by Lord Halys Hornwood, the forested lands attached to the House were located Southwest of the Dreadfort and Northeast of White Harbor. Their access to natural resources was second only to the Karstark forests in the North, which meant though they were not considered to be a rich House, the Hornwoods were far from poor. The only other thing of note that Ned could recall was that a distributary of the Broken Branch river flows directly into Hornwood lands.

It was at this point that Ned had an epiphany. As a result of the numerous Geography lessons he once considered to be monotonous and boring, the young Wolf quickly realized the similarities between Oldtown's location to the Honeywine river and Castle Hornwood's proximity to the Broken Branch. Since Brandon intended to open a new school here, it was easy for Ned to imagine what his brother's intentions now were.

"Brandon plans on creating a new Citadel for the North," he stated in awe.

Hotto smiled proudly at his young ward and nodded his head in agreement. "That he does, lad," the Dothraki answered. "A complete copy of Winterfell's library will be sent to the Hornwoods once the school is complete, as well as the blueprints for the Printing Press and several trained small folk to work the machine. Your father has also given Lord Hornwood his word that House Stark will utilize Winterfell's press for personal use only. "

This time it was Ned's turn to nod his head. The Printing Press would be a great boon for the North's version of the Citadel. With the massive forest the Hornwood's had access to, it would be an ideal source for the production of paper the press would need to work properly. Despite this new revelation, Ned was still bothered by the costs of this school. Even if Brandon intended to recreate the Citadel on Hornwood lands, the gold set aside for the project was still triple the amount needed to build such a place.

The paper mill Brandon constructed at Wolfswood Port for Winterfell's press was easy to build and required very little effort and money to maintain. So Ned couldn't attribute the majority of the excess gold set aside for House Hornwood to the new mill they would need to supply their own printing press.

"But the numbers are still wrong, Hotto," he stated confidently. "Even if Brandon intended to build a tower that was twice as grand as the one in Oldtown, the Hornwoods still wouldn't need the amount of gold my brother is giving to them. Where is the rest of the money going?"

The former Dothraki slave couldn't help but be pleased with his surrogate brother's critical thinking. With Lord Arryn being forced to split his time equally between Robert and Ned, over the past five years Hotto personally pushed the little wolf to use his mind to solve every problem that he faced. And now the fruits of his labor were evident for anyone to see. Regardless of the task Ned was given, his thoroughness in thinking through every scenario he could be confronted with usually ensured he was prepared for almost any given situation. Unfortunately, this wasn't one of those times.

"Tell me, Ned, what makes you think your brother wants to build a new tower?"

"Because the Citadel is a large tower," Ned replied hesitantly.

"While that may be true, your assumption that Brandon wants to build a replica of the Citadel is incorrect. It's the idea behind the place that he wants to recreate."

"I don't understand."

Hotto took a moment to gather his thoughts and said, "Think of the Citadel as a repository of knowledge that is used to train future researchers, historians, and advisors to men of power. Though the work that they do is important, the benefits of all their wisdom are available only to a select few. The school your brother wants to build is intended to give every man or woman that desires it, a chance at a better life."

When he saw Ned's face scrunch up in confusion, Hotto tried a more direct method to help him understand his brother's goal. "Outside of learning their letters and numbers, what do you think would help the average man have a chance at a better life?"

Ned wracked his brain to understand the lesson he was being taught. As far as he knew small folk were the same regardless of where they lived. They worked long hours for little pay and most of them were content with the meager means by which they got by. The only time he'd seen a non-Noble with a decent amount of coin was a Knight or...and that's when the answer hit him.

"The Hornwood school is going to teach the small folk a new trade."

"Well done, little wolf," the Dothraki replied with a teasing smile. "You are correct. It's good to see that you're finally beginning to use the head on your shoulders. Soon enough, you may even start using the one between your legs."

A faint hint of a blush passed across Ned's face and he rolled his eyes at Hotto's crass words. It was bad enough that Robert kept pressuring him to visit the brothels near the Eyrie, he didn't need his surrogate older brother doing the same. "Do you know how big this school is going to be?," he asked curiously.

Hotto nodded his head and answered, "I spoke last night to the foreman your brother assigned to the new school and according to him, it will take up around twenty-four acres of Hornwood lands once it's complete."

When the Wolf-Guard Captain saw the stunned look appear on his young ward's face, he explained, "After twenty long years of construction, there are many men and women that are too old to continue with the plans your father and brother have in mind for the North. When he realized how great a loss these people would be, Brandon decided to hire many of them as teachers at the Hornwood school. Their knowledge, experience and wisdom would be instrumental in providing the younger generation the skills House Stark will need for them to know in the future."

Despite his initial shock over his brother's plans for House Hornwood, Ned was quick to see the benefits this school could have for the North. Skilled craftsmen were a rare commodity regardless of where you lived on Planetos. Most Masters only took a handful of apprentices throughout their life, though sadly, in many cases these spots were often given for nepotic reasons. This usually meant that those who were actually deserving of the apprenticeship were often relegated to being assistants, their talents often overlooked or in some cases even wasted. The Hornwood school would be able to provide these talented individuals a chance to properly harness their God's given gifts.

"I see," Ned replied hesitantly, suddenly unsure of how the North would be able to afford the massive costs attached to this endeavor. The three schools currently under Stark control already made it mandatory for children between the ages of five and twelve that lived in one of those holdfasts, to attend school for a set number of hours each day. However, there were millions of small folk that lived in the North and if even a small fraction of them decided to take up the opportunity the Hornwood school had to offer, Ned couldn't see House Stark being able to pay for all of them.

"How will the small folk pay for this education? I seriously doubt my brother or Lord Hornwood could afford to take up the cost on their behalf."

Hotto shook his head in answer and said, "That's where you're wrong, lad. In return for giving House Hornwood the plans for the printing press, your father and Lord Hornwood agreed to split half the cost for each person that attended the school, while providing them with a loan for the remainder of the fees. Once the individual completed their training, they would then be assigned to a chosen job for a period of fifteen years. During that time a fraction of their future earnings would be deducted to pay off the remaining debt, with the returning money being split equally between House Stark and House Hornwood. This way all of the Houses in the North could reap the benefits of these craftsmen, while still giving the person a chance to earn more coin than they would as a simple farmer or laborer."

Ned took a moment to think through the idea and soon enough he found it to be a sound one. With House Stark paying for the creation of the new school, once trade officially opened up between the North and the rest of Westeros and Essos, House Hornwood would make quite a bit of money from the press alone. When you add in the coin they could charge for access to the library the Starks will give to them and half the monies they would receive from the loans being paid off by the graduated small folk, it was clear why Lord Hornwood would so readily agree to the deal.

"I assume Brandon has a plan for the craftsman that don't end up teaching at the school?"

Hotto nodded his head in answer, as he was once again pleased with his surrogate brother's thought process. "Aye, lad," he replied. "Your father and brother believe the North has the men and resources to one day rival Myr as a center for art, jewelry, fashion, and glass. If they agree to move to Widow's Watch, any of the craftsmen that don't want to teach at the new school will be offered a small loan to open up a new business there."

Ned couldn't help but grin at the suggested plan. Much like with The Citadel and Castle Hornwood, the similarities between Widow's Watch and Myr were plain for him to see. Both of them were port cities that were perfectly situated to facilitate trade and if Brandon's idea held true, the North would only get stronger in the future.

Thanks to his brother's recreation and then improvement of Myrish glass techniques, Ned knew that the Northern glass workers were already better than their Myrish counterparts when it came to producing mirrors and spy glasses. With Winterfell's recent production of high-quality silk, given a little time and support for the soon to be burgeoning artists and craftsman the Hornwood school would produce, the young wolf could easily imagine what Widow's Watch would become in a few years.

The fleeting joy Ned felt over his homeland's prosperity was quickly tempered by the sudden reminder of his true reason for wanting to speak to Hotto. While the monetary discrepancy associated with the new school did alarm him, it was only an excuse for what he really wanted to ask his surrogate older brother. Since his return to Winterfell a few days ago, Ned was far more concerned with another of his brother's actions.

"Hotto...is my brother planning for a war?"

The Dothraki blinked in surprise at the question, and then let loose a bellowing laugh. "Why by the gods would you think such a thing, lad?"

The young wolf shrugged his shoulders in reply. "Where once House Stark could boast five thousand men at arms, now Winterfell, Black Harbor, Moat Cailin, and the Golden Fang can all make such a claim. When you add in the fifteen hundred men split between Wolfwood port and the Twin Tails, as well as the thousands of men we currently have amongst the SeaWolves, House Stark alone can match the combined number of men the rest of the Noble houses in the North can muster together. If not war, what else am I to think?"

Even if he didn't agree with Ned's conclusion, for yet another time that day, Hotto couldn't help but feel pride at the growth of the young man before him. "Your words may be true, lad, but the thought behind them is incorrect."

"I don't understand."

"Before the changes Brandon brought to the North, the men at arms for House Stark only needed to protect Winterfell. The five new holdfasts under your family's direct control simply require more men to guard them. The same holds true for the men that now make up the new Northern Navy."

Once he took a moment to think about it, Ned realized Hotto was right. While it's true that House Stark's forces were now incredibly large, individually each new holdfast under Stark control required that many men to protect them. Especially given how big Winterfell, Black Harbor, Moat Cailin, and the Golden Fang were said to be.

"But why are the training centers still active then?," he asked curiously. "Don't we already have enough men at arms for each holdfast?"

"The answer to that question is threefold," Hotto replied. "First, with the wedding between your brother and Lady Dayne soon to occur, your father believes it's time for the North to come out of hiding and open up trade with the Southern Kingdoms, as well as Essos. The extra men will be necessary to protect the numerous goods the North will be sending out by land and sea."

When he saw Ned nod his head in agreement, Hotto continued, "Second, a soldier's life is not an easy one. Between bandits, pirates and greedy merchants, there is no guarantee that every man we send out of the North will return to us unharmed or alive. The men at arms currently under your House's banner are not common in any way. Each and every one of them have spent years honing their minds and bodies to become as skilled as they are, and replacing any of these men or women will not be an easy task. The training centers are still active, because it's better to have skilled soldiers and not need them, than to need them and not have them."

Once again Ned took the time to think through his surrogate brother's words and he quickly realized the ever-present necessity of the training centers at Moat Cailin and Black Harbor.

"The third reason is not something you will find in any of the notes Brandon left for you. As of now, only your brother, your father and I know of Brandon's plans for the additional men at arms. The only reason you weren't made aware of this earlier, is because your brother thought of it long before you were fostered at the Eyrie."

His curiosity piqued, Ned asked, "Will you tell me now?"

Though his liege Lord hadn't given him permission to do so, Hotto knew Ned was both mature enough to keep the secret and intelligent enough to understand the value behind his older brother's future plan. Given Ned's status as the spare heir of Winterfell, the former slave didn't believe either Brandon or Rickard would be upset with him for telling Ned of their intentions.

"Aye, lad," Hotto answered. "I will. For many years your brother has wanted to do this, but up until recently the North wasn't strong enough to support such a venture. Now that most of the planned construction is complete, and your father's loyal bannerman taken care of with the gifts they've received from your House in recent years, Brandon intends to negotiate with the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch to reclaim the New Gift."

Ned's eyes widened at the news. Eight thousand years ago, when the Night's Watch was first created, the progenitor of House Stark, Bran the Builder, gave to them a gift of land for their sustenance and support. Commonly known as Bran's Gift, these fertile lands stretched seventy-five miles South of the Wall and allowed the Watch to draw upon a steady supply of food, livestock, and firewood for their use.

A little over two hundred years ago, Queen Alysanne Targaryen flew to Castle Black on top of her majestic dragon, Silverwing. At the time she had been so enamored with the honor and courage of the Black brothers, that upon her return to King's Landing she urged her husband to award the Night's Watch lands which became known as the New Gift. Matching the original Gift in size, the loss of an additional seventy-five miles of some of the most fertile lands under their control was a huge blow for House Stark, one that was felt by all of the North for decades to come.

Unfortunately, reclaiming those lands was easier said than done. Though they were technically a part of the North, since their conception the militant order had been autonomous for thousands of years. When the Targaryens conquered all of Westeros, the Night's Watch was allowed to remain semi-autonomous in exchange for swearing neutrality in any conflict within the Seven Kingdoms. This neutrality also granted the Lord Commander of the Watch the right to rule the Black brothers and the lands under their control, as he saw fit.

"How is that possible, Hotto?," Ned asked, his voice laced with both excitement and fear. "And can we even legally reclaim those lands?"

The former Dothraki slave took a moment to gather his thoughts, before replying, "Legally the lands fall under the dominion of the Lord Commander and he can do with them as he sees fit. Due to the semi-autonomous nature of the Night's Watch, much like with any Lord Paramount in the Seven Kingdoms, the Commander can disperse the lands under his control however he should choose. So long as the new owner abides by the laws of the land and swears allegiance to the Iron Throne, there isn't any reason for the King to interfere with the Lord Commander's decision."

"I see," Ned replied, though he was still uncertain how his brother would be able to reclaim the New Gift. "And how does Brandon intend to convince the Lord Commander to return these lands to our House?"

"By giving the Night's Watch the means to support themselves once again," Hotto answered with a smirk.

As soon as he saw the confused expression appear on Ned's face, Hotto explained, "In times past the Night's Watch stood ten thousand strong and it was filled with honorable men who willingly chose to protect the realm from the Wildlings that lived across the Wall. Now, the order barely has a thousand men, many of whom are old men or criminals who are forced to be there in order to save their own lives. The drastic reduction in their numbers has resulted in numerous successful raids against the villages that once resided in the Gift and New Gift. With the Watch's inability to properly protect the smallfolk on their lands, the majority of people that lived there fled south to safety."

"But how does that help us?," Ned asked hesitantly. "Even if they do swear into his service, Bran can't force a man to join the Watch, especially if he hasn't committed a crime."

"While that may be true, if the Lord Commander agrees, your brother can lend him men on a temporary basis," Hotto answered. "In return for the New Gift, Brandon and your father are prepared to equip the Watch with new Castle forged steel, fix any of the nineteen castles on the Wall that are in disrepair and manage the original Gift on their behalf, without any pay. On top of that, they are willing to provide a thousand men each from Winterfell, Black Harbor, and Moat Cailin for a period of six moons, with a fresh three thousand to replace them on a regular rotation."

For yet another time that day, Ned found himself shocked by his older brother's plans. "Should the Lord Commander agree to Bran's proposal, will the New Gift remain under House Stark?"

Hotto shook his head in answer. "No. Both your brother and father agree the Starks already have too much land under their direct control. So far none of your vassals have complained about this discrepancy and they believe it's best to do with these lands as they did with Martyn Cassel. As of now, they intend to elevate someone trustworthy to Noble status and have them manage both the Gift and New Gift on their behalf. Should the Lord Commander agree to the deal, the next batch of men to graduate from the Wolf Guard will be assigned as the men at arms of the new Lord."

The longer Ned thought about the proposal, the more he found himself liking it. Not only would the Watch benefit greatly from this deal, but the return of the New Gift would also be a huge boon for House Stark. In comparison to the nearly rotted food House Stark was forced to purchase from the Tyrells, so far the lands attached to the Wolfswood port had done an admirable job in sustaining the North, but much of that food had already been used to keep the workers fed during these past twenty years of construction. With the ever-present threat of Winter always a concern, the fertile lands of the New Gift would be instrumental in ensuring not a single soul would starve during that time.

As an added benefit, the loan of Stark men on the Wall would provide these soldiers with much-needed experience in battle. Their presence, in turn, should help the Lord Commander keep in line the criminal element that can be found in the Watch, while also giving those same men a chance to better themselves with Wolf Guard training and discipline. When all of this was combined with the men at arms that would accompany the yet to be named Lord of the land, Ned was certain the Wilding raids that slipped around the Wall would be considerably deterred.

* * *

 **276: Highgarden(Olenna's Solar):**

At eight and forty, the 5'9" Olenna Tyrell was known all throughout the Seven Kingdoms as the Queen of Thorns. The eldest daughter of Runceford Redwyne, in her youth she was considered to be only a modest beauty but made up for that lack with a mind that could match wits and cunning with the likes of anyone in Westeros.

Unlike the rest of her peers who yearned to one day marry a Dragon, Olenna was not pleased with her betrothal to Prince Daeron Targaryen shortly after her ninth Name-day. Her feelings on the matter were only further reinforced the first time she lay eyes upon her silver-haired intended. A sword swallower through and through, within moments of their meeting, Olenna decided she would do everything in her power to make sure their marriage never came to fruition.

The Gods must have listened to her pleas, because mere days after her eighteenth Name-day, the Prince himself broke off their engagement. With her freedom from the queer Dragon now assured, Olenna immediately set her sights on her sister's betrothed, Luthor Tyrell.

At 6'1" the Lord of House Tyrell was a tall man with broad shoulders and a trim waist. His neatly cropped beard and piercing brown eyes gave him a regal appearance that endeared him to Olenna almost instantly. Well known throughout the Seven Kingdoms as a capable warrior, Luthor Tyrell was the perfect choice to help the future Queen of Thorns rise to power.

The night before he was to officially propose to her younger sister, Voila, Olenna conveniently stumbled upon the room that Luthor was staying in and proceeded to milk his cock dry all through the night. By the time morning came, the young Lord was so exhausted from her efforts that he lacked the strength to walk downstairs and go through with the proposal. His thoughts were so thoroughly confounded by Olenna's seduction, that half a moon later she became his wife.

From the day she took her place as the Lady of House Tyrell, Olenna made herself indispensable to her new husband. Though not an unintelligent man, Luthor was quick to realize that his new wife's intellect far surpassed his own and often sought out her advice when dealing with his many Vassals. Between Luthor's intimidating presence and her ruthless ambition, the duo made such a formidable pair that House Tyrell's fortunes grew like never before.

Throughout their years as husband and wife, Olenna ensured Luthor's loyalty through copious use of her mouth and cunt. Despite the presence of numerous women far prettier than her at Highgarden, she was able to satiate her husband's every carnal desire, to the point that he never sheathed his cock in any cunt but her own. The Lady Tyrell took great pride in knowing that the only children her lover ever conceived, were those that were born solely from her womb.

While it's true that she never loved her husband, during their time together Olenna did grow very fond of the man. Though oafish at times and quick to anger, she never once doubted that he loved her with all of his heart. As an added bonus, Luthor was a formidable lover whose endurance kept her own needs quenched on a nearly nightly basis. Between his skills in the bedroom and his willingness to heed her advice outside of it, Olenna loved every moment of her life as a Tyrell.

The passing of her husband in a freakish hawking accident, hurt the Queen of Thorns far more than she would ever admit to a living soul. In many ways Luthor became a friend and confidant that she never thought to have in the man she would marry and his death forced her to realize how much she truly cared for him.

Sadly, those sentiments didn't last for long. With her son Mace's ascension to Lord Paramount of the Reach, Olenna was forced to spend her time curtailing the boy's idiocy at every turn. Where Luthor was intelligent enough to realize when he needed help, Mace thought himself far smarter than he actually was. To make matters worse, unlike his father, her son was prone to making decisions without first asking for her guidance. A fact that already caused several problems during his short reign.

Olenna was broken from her reverie at the sound of a knock on her parlor door. "Come in," she called out.

The door opened to the arrival of her oafish and often times incompetent son. If not for the fact that she'd never spread her legs for a man other than Luthor, based on his recent actions, the mere sight of her eldest child would have made her question the source of his parentage.

At one and twenty, the 6'0" man before her, looked like a mocking caricature of his father. Though similar in appearance to her late husband, her son's hair was long and unkempt, whereas Luthor's was short and neatly trimmed. Unlike his father's piercing gaze, Mace's brown orbs were dull and lackluster. His slightly rotund face and belly showed he'd been spending more time at the dinner table than he did in the training yards, a stark contrast from his father's warrior-like frame at the time of his death. Even his beardless face gave him the impression of a boorish boy, compared to the regal appearance Luthor once portrayed.

When she saw her fool of a son saunter up to her desk without a care in the world, it took all of her self control not to throw the goblet of wine she held in her hand, at his face.

"I've just returned from King's Landing, mother, and I'm hungry and tired," he said with a grunt. "Why have you sent for me?"

As she forced herself to control the immeasurable anger she was currently feeling, Olenna's fingers slowly drummed on top of the letter resting on her oak desk.

"Do you know what this missive contains, Mace?," Olenna asked bitingly.

The young Lord shook his head in reply. Based on his mother's obvious irritation, he assumed it was yet another communique from one of his needy vassals, complaining about one thing or another.

Olenna's fingers stilled on the letter, the eerie silence that followed only disturbed by the crackling of the fire to her left. "This here is proof that I should have swallowed on the night you were conceived. Do you realize what you have done, you blundering fool? Your incompetence has ruined over two hundred years of good fortune that this House has enjoyed. What in the name of the Seven do you have to say for yourself, boy?"

"Mother," Mace exclaimed, aghast at Olenna's crass words. "Why would you say such a thing to me?"

"Why?," the Queen of Thorns questioned loudly. "Because you oaf, your stupidity has allowed the Starks to finally break the contract between them and House Tyrell. A contract so binding, the only way for those damn wolves to get out of it was from an action no Lord of this House would ever think to make."

The contract in question was made over two hundred years ago, shortly after King Jaehaerys I gifted the Night's Watch the New Gift at his wife's urging. The unilateral decision made by the King stripped the North of their most fertile lands and angered House Stark to the point the wolves thought to secede from the Seven Kingdoms, even in the face of the mighty dragons under Targaryen control.

When Lord Alric Stark brought his grievances over the New Gift to King's Landing, heated words were exchanged between him and the King. Their argument leads to threats of death and secession and the Seven Kingdoms would have gone to war if not for the efforts of one man. It was during this time that Lord Theo Tyrell struck a mighty blow for his House and the Reach as a whole.

Lord Theo was a man entering both the twilight of his life, as well as his time as a Lord Paramount of Westeros. Having spent his entire reign consolidating power in the Reach for House Tyrell, five years prior he gladly accepted the King's offer to become the new Master of Coin for the realm. Mere days before abdicating his Lordship to his eldest son, his last act as Head of House was to broker a peace between the King and the North. With the threat of Winter fast approaching, he offered to provide House Stark with the food and grain they would need to outlast the harsh Winter.

While Lord Alric was grateful for the assistance, Theo's offer wasn't made from the goodness of his heart. In his rage induced state of mind, the contract Alric assumed he was signing for the upcoming Winter, forced the North to buy sixty percent of all food produced by Highgarden at the current market value, with House Stark also bearing the cost for the transport and safety of the goods to the North.

As written, the contract was already a favorable one for House Tyrell, but the fine print is what made the North the laughing stock of the Seven Kingdoms for generations to come. Only half of the amount being sold would be done so as written, whereas the remainder would cost House Stark an additional twenty percent above market value. To add insult to injury, not only was the contract signed and backed by the Iron Throne, but it was also worded in such a way that it bound House Stark in perpetuity and not just the upcoming Winter Alric thought he was agreeing upon. The final nail in the coffin for the deal dealt with how the binding agreement could be broken. The only way for it to be rendered complete, was for the Lord Paramount of the Reach to give the King a written dissolution of the contract in person.

By the time the North realized the ruse, it was far too late for them to rectify their mistake. Winter had arrived and with it brought the worst snowstorm Westeros had seen in several centuries. Lasting for a full three years, in the North scores of Nobles and small folk alike were lost to the unforgiving cold.

Unfortunately, Lord Alric and several of his staunchest bannermen were also part of these casualties and his named heir was far too young and far too inexperienced to challenge the King or House Tyrell over the contract's legality. Without any allies amongst the Southern Houses for them to call upon, House Stark and the North were forced to endure their fate in silence.

As the years passed, House Tyrell continued to prosper greatly from this one-sided arrangement. With the onus of transport and security of the produce completely upon House Stark, recent generations began replacing quality goods with food that was almost about to rot. Since the goods were still passable at the time of delivery, House Stark was once again forced to bear the burden of this injustice, especially since they still lacked any support from the Iron Throne or the other Great Houses.

The money the Tyrells saved from doing this allowed them to undercut their rivals at every turn. The ironfisted monopoly they created all throughout the Seven Kingdoms, ensured House Tyrell's place as the second richest House in Westeros, falling only behind House Lannister and their endless gold mines.

Mace blanched in fear at the obvious anger that was emanating from his mother. He knew exactly what she was speaking of since he made the decision to end the agreement but a fortnight ago. In his defense, his actions were only taken for the betterment of House Tyrell and not for his own sake.

It didn't have anything to do with the fact that he was drunk and wanted to show his mother and Vassals that he was a capable leader in his own right. It certainly wasn't because he was envious of the new Lord's good looks or the attention he was receiving from the entirety of the King's court. Attention that he never got during the feast thrown for his own ascension and one he was more deserving of than some savage wolf from the North. It definitely wasn't because Brandon Stark greeted him like some minor Noble and not a fellow Lord Paramount whose House was gracious enough to keep his uncivilized people fed year in and year out.

As he thought about his recent actions, Mace could still recall the knowing smirks on the faces of the King and Lord Hand when he formally rescinded the previous contract and gave the current Lord Stark his terms for the new one. The young Lord drew courage from the fact that unlike his mother and treacherous Vassals, great men like King Aerys and Lord Tywin were able to see and appreciate the depths of his business acumen.

With the stranglehold on food distribution the Reach enjoyed all throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the only House that could possibly sell the barren North the food and grain they would need to survive, was House Tully of Riverrun. Unfortunately for both the Tullys and the Starks, in recent years, without much demand for their goods, much of the Tully lands currently lay fallow. The food they did produce was used for their own needs and the remainder already spoken for by their allied Houses.

While technically the Tullys could begin working their unused lands to supply the North, they wouldn't be able to do much before the onset of Winter. Thanks to a visiting cousin of his that was an Acolyte at the Citadel, before his departure from Highgarden Mace learned the Maesters would send out white Ravens in less than three moons.

Not only did the arrival of the albino birds ensure all the Noble Houses in Westeros knew that Winter was coming, but they were also a sign for all Lord Paramounts to begin stockpiling food for the bleak time that would soon follow. Given how honorable the Starks were said to be, Mace didn't think his fellow Lord would allow his pride to let his people suffer a slow death.

The present-day terms Mace had given to Brandon, in his humble opinion weren't as harsh as they could be. After all, he wasn't a monster, it was just business. The current contract was a virtual mirror to the previous one, except the initial fifty percent of goods that House Stark would purchase from Highgarden would be ten percent above market value, with the remaining fifty percent to be purchased at thirty percent above market value. As a man of honor, Mace even included a clause that would reduce prices to the previous terms, during the entirety of Winter, regardless of its length.

It baffled Mace why one of his ancestors hadn't waited until Winter to force the Starks into a new contract, but their loss would be his gain. In a single move he would become the greatest Lord House Tyrell had ever seen, and hopefully, convince his mother that he wasn't the helpless little boy that she still thought him to be.

Upon his departure from King's Landing, as a man who epitomized the Chivalry that the Reach was known for, Mace was kind enough to give Brandon Stark a fortnight to accept his terms. By the time he arrived at Highgarden, the young Lord expected to be greeted by his mother like a conquering hero, only for him to now learn that his generous offer had been rejected by the Starks. The fear he previously felt in regards to his mother's anger, was quickly replaced by his own fury.

"That's enough, mother," he replied with a wave of his hand, and a shadow of a spine that surprised the Queen of Thorns briefly. "I will hear no more on this matter from you. If the Starks have chosen to reject my gracious offer than I will bleed them fucking dry with the next one. What is it those savages are always saying...Winter is Coming? Well, it will be here soon enough and when it is, those fucking wolves will realize no one but House Tyrell has the resources to keep them alive during Winter. And when they come crawling back to us on their hands and knees, I will make them pay for this insult."

Olenna snorted loudly in response. "Than you are a bigger fool than I thought you to be, my son. The Starks will never again agree to such unfavorable terms. As for them coming back on their hands and knees, even if the rumors coming out of Dorne prove to be false, you forget House Manderly has strong alliances with many rich and powerful people in Essos. The Starks might have to overpay for their food for the upcoming Winter, but once it has passed, the Tullys will leap at the chance to secure a new contract with them in our stead. Even with the monopoly we currently enjoy throughout the Seven Kingdoms, there was a reason no Tyrell Lord ever thought to alter our contract with the North."

When his mother's words finally registered within Mace's mind, the young Lord realized how badly he had erred. In his hubris, he never thought of the North purchasing their wares outside of Westeros and now his mistake could ruin everything his ancestors had built.

"I...I...am sorry, mother...I shou...should have.."

"Be silent, boy," Olenna barked back in a cold rage. "From here on out, you are not to make any decision without first consulting me on the matter. Do you understand the words coming out of my mouth, Mace?"

When she saw her son slowly nod his head in acceptance, Olenna continued, "Good, then remove yourself from my presence. Your stupidity could be contagious and House Tyrell can't afford both of us falling to your illness."

As Mace reluctantly made his way out of his mother's parlor, he left it a broken man. Any faith he may once have had in his own abilities was forever lost due to a single mistake. Unknown to him, for the rest of his time as the Lord of his House, he would never again be able to make an important decision on his own.

Olenna watched her eldest child leave the room in shame, and though it pained her to do so, for the good of House Tyrell her son needed to be brought to heel. With her eldest daughter already married into her old House and her youngest child no better suited to rule than her older brother, until a valid heir could be trained from one of Mace's future offspring, she would have to rule the Reach by proxy.

The loss of Stark gold meant House Tyrell would no longer be able to undercut their rivals on a regular basis. Once news of Mace's Folly became known to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, Olenna was certain their rivals would think her House to be easy prey. However, Highgarden's monopoly throughout Westeros wasn't built in a day. It took centuries in the making and it would take years before their enemies could even think to bring it all down. If she played her hand well and struck before her competitors, Olenna was certain she could still secure several long term contracts within Westeros and Essos. The terms would never be comparable to the agreement they once shared with the Starks, but the Queen of Thorns was confident in her ability to ensure a profit for her House. For now, that would have to be enough.

As she leaned back into her leather chair and took a sip of wine from the goblet in her hand, Olenna momentarily set aside her thoughts on future trade and turned her attention towards the Wolves of the North. Despite their lack of participation within the Great Game, as a Great House and the holder of the single most favorable contract the Reach had ever seen, the Queen of Thorns did her due diligence by ensuring she had several spies spread throughout Winterfell.

Unfortunately, it was obvious the people she sent had either been turned against her, or they had been found by the Starks and silenced permanently for their actions. While the loss of life meant little to her, the mere fact that the North was strong enough to provide new trade for House Dayne and House Martell, was very disconcerting for the former Lady of House Tyrell. For countless millennia the Starks were known as honorable men, who were incapable of playing let alone surviving the rules of the Great Game. For a House such as theirs to be able to hide these changes from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, proved this new Lord Stark could play the Great Game better than any of his predecessors. A fact that made Olenna weary of both Brandon's intentions and his capabilities.

* * *

 **276: Casterly Rock(Lord's Solar):**

Born to Tytos Lannister and Jeyne Marbrand, as the eldest of five siblings, Tywin Lannister was a man feared by friends, family and enemies alike. The mere mention of his name was enough to cause many a man to tremble in fright, a fact that pleased him to no end.

At four and thirty, the 6'3" man was slender of frame but broad in the shoulders. In the wake of his receding hairline, Tywin cropped the golden locks that once adorned his head, his thinning hair now highlighted by the presence of the elongated sideburns that stretched from his temple to his chin on either side. His already intimidating presence was further accentuated by his Lannister green eyes that alternated between calculated intelligence in one moment and a ruthlessness that few could ever hope to match in another.

In his youth, Tywin was forced to watch his father nearly bring to ruin the mighty House of Lannister. Tytos' incessant need to be loved by everyone, allowed him to forgive both debts and insults with equal ease. The former Lord of House Lannister's actions was enough to cause many of his bannerman to openly mock him in their cups or readily defy him whenever they had a need.

For many years Tywin watched in impotent silence as his father took these insults in stride, but his inaction came to an end shortly after his tenth Name-day. To appease some imagined slight felt by the Lord of House Frey, Tytos Lannister had the gall to betroth his only daughter to Walder Frey's second son. An uneven match in every way, Tywin was furious that his father would marry his only sister into a minor House like the Freys, especially to a second son who was already twice as old as Genna's seven Name-days.

The young Lord's reward for speaking out against his father's ill-made decision was to be sent to King's Landing to become a cupbearer in the King's Court. There, Tywin met and befriended Prince Aerys Targaryen, unknowingly setting his path to becoming one of the most feared and powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms.

By the time his eighteenth Name-day came about, Tywin was a young Knight looking to make a name for himself. As the Gods would have it, his opportunity came during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Under the leadership of his uncle, Ser Jason Lannister, Tywin alongside his younger brothers Kevan and Tygett, joined the eleven thousand strong Westerland forces as they fought for the Iron Throne in the Stepstones.

The very first battle Tywin was a part of, not only resulted in a great victory for their enemies but also led to the loss of the Westerland Commander. The sudden death of his uncle demoralized the Westerland forces, especially when Tywin took command, as the majority of the men viewed him to be as weak-willed as his father. The Heir of Casterly Rock showed these men the error of their ways, by his ruthless actions throughout the war. Time and again Tywin proved to be a brilliant tactician, one who crushed his enemies in every skirmish and battle that he led.

His numerous victories earned him great distinction during the War, one of which granted him the privilege of Knighting his best friend, Prince Aerys. At the culmination of the fighting, a battle-hardened Tywin, together with his brothers, returned to his home once more.

No longer a child who was forced to accept his father's every whim, Tywin's return to the Westerlands brought with him blood and death, the likes of which none could ever have imagined. Mere days after his arrival, the young Heir demanded the immediate repayment of all debts and loans owed to House Lannister.

Those who were aware of Tywin's actions during the War were quick to obey his command. Others like Roger Reyne and Walderran Tarbeck, jeered at the ultimatum, the pair of Lords convinced they could cow Tytos into rescinding his son's edict. Undeterred by his father's lack of support, Tywin answered these rebellious Vassals with the Rains of Castamere.

Still sung by bards all throughout Westeros, the tale of Tywin's utter destruction of House Tarbeck and Reyne, struck fear in the hearts of every man, woman, and child in the Westerlands. In a single move, the years of dishonor brought to House Lannister by the father were cleansed in righteous fire by his son.

As the young Lord's fame spread throughout the land in song, his ruthlessness was heard of and appreciated by his friend the Prince. A year later, when Aerys became King, Tywin became the youngest Lord Hand the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen and joined his liege Lord at King's Landing. Though Tytos retained his position as Lord of House Lannister for a few years longer, it was only in name.

By Tywin's decree, Kevan was named acting Steward of the Westerlands and with his brother's backing, none of their Vassals dared to cause him any problems. The whole of the Westerlands thought it best not to provoke the sleeping Lion, a sentiment that was further reinforced when Tytos died of burst heart and the true Lord of House Lannister officially took up the reigns as Lord Paramount.

For a decade straight Tywin experienced nothing but success at every turn. He married his beloved cousin, the breathtaking Joanna Lannister, and through her, the Gods gifted him with a pair of beautiful and healthy twins. A son to follow him as heir to Casterly Rock and a daughter he planned to one day place on the throne, as wife to Aerys' son Rhaegar. For that brief moment in time, all was right in the world for Tywin Lannister.

Sadly, fate was a fickle mistress even during the best of times. The pride King Aerys once felt at having a competent and efficient Lord Hand like Tywin, was quickly replaced by jealousy over his friend's good fortune. It was no secret in the court that Aerys desired Joanna for himself, her beauty far outshining that of his sister-wife Rhaella. These ill feelings were further compounded by the people joking that while Aerys sat on the throne, it was his Lord Hand that ruled over Westeros.

Despite all that was happening around him, with his wife's unending support, Tywin continued to do his duty, both to his King and to the realm. He hoped his actions would prevent his relationship with Aerys from deteriorating any further, but the Gods had another plan in their minds. Ten years after his ascension to Lord Hand, Joanna Lannister died giving birth to their second son, Tyrion Lannister.

When Aerys learned of Joanna's death and Tyrion's deformity, he mocked Tywin for his loss. He claimed the Gods had cursed him with a dead wife and a dwarf for a son, to teach him humility for all of his arrogance. A proud man, though he continued on as Hand to the King, in that very moment Tywin lost all desire to repair the broken friendship between him Aerys. From that day on, his only concern came from using his position to amass power and privilege for himself and for his House.

As he patiently sat in the palatial Lord's Solar of Casterly Rock, Tywin leaned back into his large leather chair and picked up an ornate golden goblet off his luxurious mahogany desk. Just as the first trickle of the twenty year Dornish red passed across his pale lips, the knock he'd been waiting for echoed throughout the room. "Come in," he called out.

The door opened to reveal his younger brother, Kevan. Three inches shorter than Tywin, at 6'0" even, Kevan had broad shoulders and a thick waist that made his build far stouter than any of his siblings. His close-cropped blond hair and neatly trimmed goatee was reminiscent to the look he had during the Ninepenny War, though his Lannister green eyes now flashed with a depth of experience his younger self did not have at the time.

Although he may only be a household Knight in name, during the time Kevan spent as the Steward of the Westerlands, the man proved himself as a fine administrator, one whose skills were easily on par with Tywin's own. When combined with his sound strategic thinking and unshakable loyalty to his older brother, out of all his other siblings, there was a reason why Tywin relied on him the most.

"Is it done?," Tywin asked, his cold voice icy enough to send chills down the spine of a weaker man.

"Yes, brother," Kevan answered back. "Edward is dead and his Manor burned to the ground as you commanded. It was made to look like an accident, so no one from his House will be seeking retribution for his death. Now, will you please tell me why you had me murder one of our cousins?"

Edward Lannister of Lannisport was the second son of Damon Lannister. Unlike the majority of their Vassals during Tytos' reign, Damon stayed loyal to the family above all others. Thanks to Lord Damon's actions as a faux Master of Coin for House Lannister, after his return to the Westerlands, Tywin knew every penny that was owed to his House.

As thanks for the man's years of loyal service to the Lions of the Rock, upon his death, Tywin ensured that each of his three children were well taken care of. When Reginald succeeded his father as the Head of House Lannisport, Tywin gifted the young Lord with a hundred thousand gold dragons for the much-needed repair of the port city his family ruled over. In regards to his sister, Jessica, the Lord of Casterly Rock not only paid for her dowry, but he also found the comely girl a prominent merchant family to marry into. Finally, for Edward, Tywin was quick to realize the boy's gift with numbers and had him placed as the assistant to Lord Qarlton Chelsted, the King's Master of Coin.

Over the last decade, the boy grew into a man and from the exemplary reports Tywin received from Lord Qarlton, time and again Edward proved himself worthy of receiving the Hand's personal recommendation to the position. At least that was the impression Tywin had until a fortnight ago. Between the rumors of new trade between the North and Dorne, and the arrival of the Starks to King's Landing in all their new splendor, it was obvious how thoroughly Edward had betrayed his trust.

"Because he broke my trust," Tywin replied without a care. "That alone was enough for me to order his death, but if his actions ever became known to the rest of the small council, they could have proven to be treasonous for House Lannister. A fact I'm sure King Aerys would have acted upon with even the slightest bit of evidence."

Only his years of experience as a Steward, prevented Kevan's jaw from dropping in shock. "How can a mere assistant's actions prove treasonous for our House?"

Tywin chose to answer his brother's question with one of his own. "Tell me, Kevan, what news have you heard from the North recently?"

Surprised by his brother's random query, nonetheless, Kevan answered, "Nothing much of note. According to the handful of reports I have from our spies at Winterfell and New Castle, the North is the same as it always has been."

Tywin nodded his head, already knowing what his brother's response was going to be, especially since it was the same one supplied to the small council by Varys from his little birds. "The reports you have received over the years are not worth the parchment they were written on, brother. As of now, I'm certain our people are either dead or they have been bought by House Stark."

"And pray tell, what makes you say such a thing?"

"Because I was in King's Landing when Brandon Stark took his vows as the new Lord Paramount of the North and then announced to the court his marriage to Ashara of House Dayne. A union that was made possible by a new trade alliance formed between the North and Dorne."

Kevan couldn't help but snort mockingly at the thought of the North being useful in any way, though he was surprised by Brandon's marriage to Ashara. It was no secret how close the Dayne girl was to Princess Deria and given the old hag's recent coup with the marriage between her daughter and the Prince, Kevan was certain she would look within Dorne to find a suitable match for her puppet ward. "Outside of wood and wool, what could those Northern savages possibly offer the desert rats in trade?"

Tywin arched a bushy eyebrow at his brother and said, "While that may have been true in the past, rumors have confirmed the current alliance involves the Starks providing Dorne with silk, spices and even new crops that haven't been seen in Westeros before."

For a second time that day, the Steward's shock nearly overwhelmed him. "How is that even possible, Tywin?

The inability of the Lannister Head of House to answer that very question is what lead Tywin to Edward's betrayal. Fortunately, as Lord Hand not only was he able to discover his cousin's deceit before Varys and Qarlton had a chance to do so, but he was also able to cover up Edward's actions from the investigations that were sure to follow from the two men.

When he saw his brother still waiting for a reply, Tywin answered, "While I can't explain how the Starks knew of our spies, I do know Edward's greed could have prevented us from being caught unaware to the changes that have occurred in the North."

"How so, brother?," Kevan asked curiously.

"Even before Rickard and his son arrived at court, Varys' little birds informed him about the events that happened in Dorne," Tywin explained. "If their newly found attitude and appearance weren't enough to give credence to the Stark's recent prosperity, the confirmation of the six War-Galleys they brought South with them would have sufficed."

As his mind overcame the very idea of the Starks having command of a fleet of their own, Kevan's thoughts quickly turned towards his dead cousin. In that moment, he realized what the idiot must have done. It was one thing for the Wolves to keep their actions unseen by silencing the Lannister spies, but it was another to hide their wealth from the Iron Throne itself.

"Edward was stealing from the King," he exclaimed, his normally stoic voice suddenly laced with worry and fear.

"Indeed," Tywin replied with a calm nod of his head. "The ungrateful little shit had been pocketing the increased taxes sent by the North while showing there to be no change on the official records."

"How long?," Kevan asked simply

"For seven years," the Lannister Lord replied with barely concealed anger.

"I take it you have already seen to cleaning up his mess," Kevan replied.

"I have," Tywin answered. "Fortunately, I was able to discover Edward's personal books in his room at the Keep and made changes to the official documents accordingly. The gold has already been added to the Royal Treasury, so not even Varys or Qarlton can prove what the boy had been up to."

Unknowingly, Kevan released a silent sigh in relief. Tywin's sudden arrival at Casterly Rock with a bound Edward, now made sense. Given the contentious relationship currently shared between his older brother and the King, he had no doubt what measures Aerys would have taken should Edward's actions ever came to light. If House Lannister was lucky, only Tywin would have lost his life, though Kevan wasn't sure if even that would have been enough to satiate the Mad King's wrath.

"What will we do now, brother?"

"Now, we will find out everything there is to know about Brandon Stark. I only met him briefly during the feast Aerys threw in honor of his ascension to Lord Paramount, but he is unlike any Stark I have ever met before and I have no doubt he is the catalyst behind the changes to this new North."

Unlike most people, Kevan knew his brother well enough to recognize the hint of respect that flashed across the man's green eyes. In that moment, he suddenly found himself curious as to what made this boy Lord so special. Tywin Lannister was not a man who was easily impressed by anyone and the mere fact that a Stark of all people was able to garner his attention, made the usually overworked Steward eager to begin on his new task.

* * *

 **276: The North(Road to Winterfell)**

As she looked at the passing countryside outside of her lavish carriage, Ashara was enthralled by its beauty. Having lived her entire life surrounded by the blistering heat of the desert, though she knew how harsh these lands could become during Winter, she couldn't help but smile at the cool wind that swept across her face and all the greenery that her eyes could now see. Even the road she was traveling on was far smoother and better built than any other King's Road she'd been on in Westeros. Yet, despite all of the splendor that was around her, the lush lands she would soon call home were only one of the surprises she would face on her journey to the North.

On the day her betrothed and future Good father left for King's Landing, Ashara received a letter that was hand-delivered to her by her brother Andrew. In it, she was informed the Starks were leaving behind five of the six ships they brought with them as an escort for her journey to the North. As an added boon, one of the massive War-Galleys was to be her personal vessel.

While Oberyn, Deria and her father had been pleased by her new family's generosity, as well as their consideration for her safety, during their tour of the _Lady Stark_ , her eldest brother's jealousy was clearly evident for any to see. Fortunately, it didn't require a Grand Maester's intellect to discover the reason behind his animosity. Unlike the other four vessels that would accompany them North, her personal ship was nothing short of luxurious.

Each of the cabins on the _Lady Stark_ was made from dark red sandalwood and equipped with large bear-skin blankets, with the finest of silks used for the bedding. The beautifully handcrafted dinnerware they were shown was each emblazoned with the coat of arms of House Dayne and would be used by the ship's personal chef to make their meals during the journey. The sheer amount of food and drinks stored on the vessel left everyone not only baffled by the variety but also impressed with the ingenious iceboxes that were used to keep everything fresh.

By the end of the tour Ashara and Oberyn were eagerly looking forward to trying out all the new food and wine that would soon be at their disposal, while Deria and Beric were busy making plans to acquire several of these ice boxes for their own use.

Three days after the tour, Ashara and the bridal party were ready to depart. The moon long trek to her new home was a unique experience for the future Lady Stark. Even though she grew up a ward of the ruling House of Dorne, the young Dayne rarely ever had a reason to travel by ship. As such, she relished her time at sea and with her surrogate younger brother and his paramour by her side, the trio took advantage of all the comforts the _Lady Stark_ had to offer.

When the bridal party finally arrived at White Harbor, they were personally greeted by Lord Wyman Manderly and his family, who insisted they spend the night at New Castle before continuing on with their journey. Though her tour of the Manderly seat of power was only a brief one, even to the untrained eye it was clear to see the grandeur of the city.

Built atop a large hill, New Castle's rising white walls glistened as if they were newly made. What surprised Ashara the most was the lack of dirt, grime, and smell that was commonly seen in a city the size of White Harbor. When she questioned Lord Manderly's heir about it, the young man laughed and credited her future husband for the change.

Apparently, Brandon Stark convinced Lord Manderly on the benefits of a properly created sewage system and designed one for White Harbor himself. Though the Manderly heir remained tight-lipped over most of Ashara's questions in regards to Brandon and Winterfell after a few glasses of wine Wylis did open up about some things.

From her history lessons growing up, Ashara knew the Wolf's Den was an ancient castle that once served as the seat of power for a cadet branch of House Stark, called the Greystarks. After the destruction of the House for siding with the Boltons during a rebellion centuries back, the castle changed hands many times until finally being awarded to the Manderlys upon their arrival to the North.

According to what she learned from Sunspear's Maester, the Wolf's Den was supposed to be a worn down castle, with crumbling black walls, that was occasionally used by the Manderlys as an oversized prison. However, the structure she saw on her brief tour looked to be completely renovated, standing proudly in all its magnificent glory. From what Wylis let slip during the feast thrown in her honor, it was now manned by almost fifteen hundred bannermen, all of whom were gifted to House Manderly by the Starks.

That little tidbit of information was enough to make Deria, her father and Oberyn exceedingly weary of House Stark's newly found power. The number of bannermen her future House so easily gave away, was equivalent to almost half of the forces House Martell could muster from their own sworn men at arms. For the Stark's to be so generous was clearly a frightening thought for her surrogate mother and another reason the Princess was grateful for Ashara's marriage to Brandon Stark.

The young Dayne's departure from New Castle was met with the same exuberance as her arrival. Accompanied by Lord Manderly and his family, the bridal party continued on their journey to Winterfell. Barely two hours in, the _Lady Stark_ came across Fort Cassel, a massive fortress located at the bifurcation of the White River. Based on the shocked expression that briefly flashed across Deria's face, Ashara knew the structure was not one her mother had seen during her previous trek through the North. A fact proven when Wylis regaled them with the story of House Cassel's elevation to Noble status a few years back and the subsequent fortress they were gifted with as part of that honor.

By the time they arrived at Wolfswood Port, even Oberyn and his paramour, Ellaria, were shocked enough by their surroundings to set aside their normal merriment and discover all they could about this new North. During yet another feast thrown in her honor, Ashara and Deria had been amused by the abnormally full wineskins in front of the pair, as they instead spent their time charming their host into revealing more information than the Castellan of the port might have intended to give away on his own.

Based on what they were able to discern from the man, Wolfswood Port was one of five new holdfasts directly under Stark control. This was an achievement no other Great House could boast of in Westeros and one that showed how deep the Stark coffers now ran. The Port itself acted as a deterrent against any unwanted ships coming down the newly formed Shimmering canal that connected to the Sunset Sea, while the lands attached to the holdfast were responsible for making sure the Starks no longer needed the Reach to feed their people.

During their brief stay at the Port, news of Mace's Folly became known to the bridal party. While the North openly celebrated the end to the centuries-old contract, the Dornish were simply pleased by the effect this would have on the Tyrells. The mere thought of the monetary hit the Reach would soon face did bring her surrogate mother a brief moment of joy, but Ashara knew the sentiment was only fleeting. It paled in comparison to the fact that the North was able to hide all of these changes from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms for so long. It also reinforced the Princess' belief in the abilities of House Stark's new Master of Whispers, which further increased the ever-growing weariness of all the Dornish save Ashara herself.

The following day, the last leg of their journey began at dawn, with the Castellan of Wolfswood Port providing their party with several extravagantly built carriages for their use. As an added bonus, he even offered them an escort of fifty men at arms for their security. A gift that was gladly accepted by Deria and Beric. While her father and the Manderly men chose to ride on borrowed horses, the Manderly women and children took a carriage for themselves. A second carriage was dedicated to Deria and her father and a third taken by Oberyn and Ellaria. It was no secret amongst the bridal party as to what the pair would be up to during the three-day journey and given her desire to spend some time alone before arriving at her new home, a fourth carriage was graciously provided for Ashara.

Despite being forced to spend two nights camping out on the open road, at no point did Ashara and her family feel as if they were roughing it. The men at arms provided as their escort were well trained and very efficient in taking care of all of the party's needs, so tents were set up and latrines dug almost immediately at the end of each day. If that wasn't enough to make sure her journey to Winterfell was to be a pleasant one, much like with her voyage out at sea, her private chef was also present to ensure a tantalizing meal was provided for everyone.

Now, barely an hour away from her new home, Ashara's excitement and weariness grew in leaps in bounds. Based on everything she'd learned of the North and the man responsible for its change, she couldn't wait to finally meet her future husband. Time and again Brandon Stark surpassed all of her dreams in regards to the perfect man, but now, a part of her was worried he was too good to be true. As a result, the closer she got to Winterfell the more impatient she found herself becoming with the wait.

Ashara's daydream came crashing to a halt when the door to her still moving carriage suddenly opened and the man she was thinking about jumped inside. The sheer shock of his presence was quickly surpassed by the instant attraction she felt at his sight. The brief glimpse she had of Brandon at Sunspear, didn't do justice to seeing the man up close and in person.

As her violet eyes took in his skin-tight black leather armor with a grey wolf's head adorning the chest, she couldn't help but notice the ripple of his well-defined muscles underneath it. From their brief encounter at Sunspear, Ashara was well aware her betrothed was a large man, but his closeness just highlighted how massive he truly was. Despite being tall for a woman, the young Dayne felt like a child in his presence. But his physical appearance was only part of what she was searching for. It wasn't until their eyes locked, did she see the intelligence, kindness, and mutual attraction she was hoping to find.

Ashara was pulled from her inspection, when she heard Brandon say, "Apologies, my Lady, for startling you, but when I learned how close you were to Winterfell, I couldn't stop myself from coming to greet you."

"Your apology is appreciated, but unwarranted, my Lord," Ashara replied, as was expected of a proper Lady. "It is your right to meet your betrothed. How may I serve you?"

Brandon frowned at the response, the rejoinder much too docile for the woman he imagined as his future wife. "Soon enough we shall be married, my Lady. I would have you call me by my given name."

"Very well, my...I mean Brandon. Please, call me Ashara."

"Good," Brandon replied with a nod of his head. "I'm sure you're wondering why I'm here right now."

"The thought did cross my mind," Ashara answered, the hint of sarcasm clearly evident in her voice. "Especially considering how close we are to Winterfell. One would think you were in a hurry to greet me."

Brandon smirked, pleased by the confident reply of his wife to be. "Now, that sounds more like the 'Desert Rose with Thorns of Steel' that will soon be my wife. If not for your obvious beauty, I would have thought the Ashara I chose to marry was switched with some delicate Southern flower."

Ashara arched an eyebrow at hearing the nickname Oberyn and Elia would often tease her with, her violet eyes suddenly dancing with mirth. While she was surprised that her betrothed even knew about the existence of the epithet, she was far more amused that he had the audacity to use it in front of her. The way Brandon spoke to her was different from all the stuffy heirs she'd previously met in Dorne and in spite of her years of training as a Lady, she found herself responding in kind.

"Well, if it's thorns that you like than thorns you shall have," she said with a show of mock arrogance. "Now, what's this about you choosing me? I wasn't aware I had any competition for the title of Lady Stark."

Upon hearing her response, the Stark Lord's booming laugh filled the carriage with ease. "To be honest, Ashara, when my father decided it was time for me to take up my rightful place as the next Warden of the North, he scoured the Seven Kingdoms in hopes of finding me the perfect woman to stand by my side," Brandon explained. "I admit, when I learned of the criteria he expected my future wife to meet, I didn't believe anyone could meet his lofty expectations. But then I heard of you. Not only did you surpass every one of his conditions, but you also did it so thoroughly that there really wasn't any competition to be had."

"And what exactly did these criteria entail?," Ashara asked curiously.

In his quest to begin their relationship with as much honesty as possible, Brandon didn't hesitate before replying, "My father had four requirements he wished to see in his future Good daughter. The first was that she would be beautiful and I can say without a shadow of a doubt that there are few women in this world who can even hope to compare to your beauty. The second that she be intelligent, a fact that you've recently proven with your masterful dealing with the Iron Bank. The third that she be strong enough to rule by my side, which you're clearly capable of, especially with the training you received from House Martell, as well as the manner in which you earned the nickname given to you by Prince Oberyn and Princess Elia. And finally, that she comes from a House that could offer my family political influence in the future. While I won't lie and tell you that your relationship with the Martells wasn't of great importance to my father, I can honestly say that I chose you for another reason."

Though her face showed a cool facade, there was no denying the rapid beating of the heart within her chest. "And what reason would that be?," Ashara asked.

Unsure how to properly answer the question, Brandon took a deep breath and said, "When I was young, my mother would tell me stories of her time growing up with my father. Though their marriage was partially political, my parents loved each other long before their future was decided for them. A part of me always wanted to find my wife in such a manner, but my childhood was spent making the North what it is today. From the little I know of you, you are beautiful, intelligent, kind and fierce. All qualities that my mother possessed, and ones I would wish to have in the woman that I marry. I know not what the future will hold for us, Ashara, but I believe you can be someone that I could fall in love with some day. And if we somehow prove to be incompatible, then at the very least I believe you could be a friend who could rule by my side and ease some of my burdens."

Over the years, many a man and woman paid compliment to her beauty, but Ashara could tell by the lust in their eyes that their only desire was to fuck her body. Few if any ever thought to know her as a person. As she stared into the piercing grey eyes of the man she would soon marry, the young Dayne knew her betrothed was different from all of her previous suitors. Brandon's words were so simple and sincere, she couldn't help but blush at his honest praise.

"Thank you, Brandon."

"For what?"

"For being honest with me," she replied. "For not wanting to be with me, simply because of the way I look. My entire life I wanted to find someone who wanted me and not just my body. You're right. We don't know what the future will hold for us, but I do think you can be someone I can fall in love with too. And the Seven forbid if that doesn't come to pass, I can at least promise you that I will be a friend who will always support you in your time of need."

From the moment he made his decision to sneak out of Winterfell and meet his betrothed, Brandon was weary of this very moment. It was one thing to read reports on the woman he would spend the rest of his life with and another to see if she lived up to the expectations he had of her. Now that he'd finally met her, the new Lord Stark was pleased to learn his wife to be was everything he imagined and more.

Brandon was pulled from his thoughts when he heard Ashara ask, "Is it true the Starks now hold five new holdfasts directly under their control?"

"Aye, it's true," he answered simply, not at all surprised by the query. Especially given the Raven he received from the Castellan of Wolfswood Port, informing him of Oberyn and Ellaria polite but insistent inquisition during their brief stay.

"How is that even possible? Historically, neither the Starks nor the North has ever had the resources to achieve such a feat."

Ashara's boldness might have deterred another man, but she was confident her future husband would not be upset by her inquisitive nature. Her faith in her betrothed was soon proven by the knowing smile that suddenly appeared on Brandon's face.

In the past, the young Lord would have avoided answering such a question, but with the North about to open up trade with the Southern kingdoms, Brandon knew the truth behind their good fortune could not be hidden for too much longer.

"Let's just say, the mountains in the North hold treasures that no one could have ever imagined," Brandon replied coyly. "Unlike my ancestors, I was fortunate enough to not only discover these riches but also to claim them solely for my family."

Ashara's brow scrunched up deeply at the response until she realized what her betrothed's answer really entailed. "You found gold in your mountains," she exclaimed, clearly shocked by the discovery.

Once again Brandon's booming laugh echoed throughout the carriage. "Aye, I did," he replied with a nod of his head. "One day soon the Lannisters won't be known as the only family in Westeros to possess endless mountains of gold. But unlike the Westerlands, that's not all the North has to offer. The lands ruled by the Mountain Clans are rich in iron ore, while the Long Lake now under Stark control contains countless precious gems. The Gods have always looked favorably upon House Stark, but now more so than ever, the good fortune they have bestowed upon us has allowed the North to prosper beyond our wildest dreams."

As she thought about the reasons behind the North's sudden rise in power, Ashara once again marveled at the skills of the Stark spymaster. Given how comfortable she found herself to be in her future husband's presence, the young Dayne decided to push the boundaries of his leniency.

"House Stark's Master of Whispers must be exceptional to hide all of these discoveries from the other Great Houses. I know for a fact that Princess Deria was upset with how little she knew of the changes that have been made in the North. Considering how knowledgeable you are in regards to events in my personal life, I'm curious to know how far your spymaster's reach extends to."

Brandon arched an eyebrow Ashara and asked, "And what makes you think House Stark employs a spymaster?"

Ashara couldn't help but snort at the question. "Because, while you are certainly intelligent enough to be capable of hiding these actions on your own, at the end of the day you are but one man. It would be impossible for you to act as House Stark's spymaster and still remain a key cog to all the projects I have recently heard about."

Brandon smirked at the reply, pleased with Ashara's boldness and impressed by her logical reasoning. However, as much as he was thrilled by the young Dayne's spirit, the Stark Lord was not a stupid man. Despite his upcoming marriage to the woman before him, as the known protege of Princess Deria, there was a limit to the length of honesty and trust he could show to his future wife. At least not until she gained his confidence and proved her loyalty to House Stark.

"While I won't deny the truth behind your words, Ashara, I hope you can understand my reluctance to speak further on the matter. The identity of my spymaster is a closely guarded secret and something only a handful of people even know about. I hope you will one day you become such a confidant, but unfortunately, that day is not today."

Another woman might have been hurt or even angry by Brandon's words, but Ashara was unlike any other Southern Lady. Instead of being upset, she was truly pleased by the response. It proved her future husband was not a foolish man who trusted easily, but someone whose confidence she hoped to gain one day.

Unsure of how she would react to his statement, Brandon sighed softly at Ashara's lack of anger. Hoping to move the conversation towards safer topics, he quickly asked, "Have you given any thought as to what you want to do in the future?"

The young Dayne's violet eyes widened in response to the question. Despite Brandon's stated desire to have a wife who could rule by his side, she didn't know what to say. Ever since she was a child, Ashara assumed her marriage would be born from the duty she owed to House Martell and her father.

Based on the interactions she had with the various Lords and heirs she met in the South, in spite of Deria's claims otherwise, Ashara prepared herself for a future where her intelligence and abilities would be overlooked and undervalued by her husband to be. Now, the thought of a different future filled her heart with a hope she had long forsaken.

"What will you allow me to do?"

Brandon frowned at the question, though if he was being honest with himself, he wasn't surprised by it. Despite the leniency the North and Dorne showed in regards to women, sadly there was a limit as to how much freedom they were truly given. Outside of the Starks, the Mormonts and the Martells, no other Noble House in either Kingdom would allow a woman to have a say over House matters.

This was certainly true in regards to Anna Stark. While Brandon's mother was clearly more intelligent than all of her brothers, his grandfather still refused to heed her advice in any given situation. His decision on the matter led to several costly financial mistakes for House Karstark over the years, ones that could have been avoided had he but listened to his daughter's suggestions. It wasn't until she married and became Lady Stark, that Anna's administrative skills were finally allowed to shine.

Despite the large strain the contract with the Tyrells put on House Stark's coffers, Anna Stark was able to "alleviate the burden better than any Stark Lord that came before her. Under her guidance, not only were the Starks able to meet the demands of the Tyrells but for the first time in generations they were able to retain a profit from their taxes. In his youth, Brandon marveled at his mother's ability to achieve such a feat and under her tutelage, he refined his own administrative skills. Skills that helped him to cut costs during construction, while simultaneously ensuring that each site wouldn't have a delay due to a lack of materials, provisions or personnel.

When he noticed his betrothed patiently waiting for his reply, Brandon quickly said, "I have no need of a trophy wife, Ashara. More than your beauty, it was your intelligence that drew me to you. Much like with my parents, I wish to have a wife that can rule by my side. Outside of certain things that will have to wait until we reach a certain level of trust between one another, I assure you I have no desire to limit what you can do in the future. So I ask again, what is it that you want to do?"

Ashara's surprise was soon enough replaced by the elation she felt at hearing Brandon's decree. The thought of being treated like an equal by her future husband nearly overwhelmed the young woman, but she was still able to reply, "I've always had a head for numbers and after my dealings with the Iron Bank, I want to create a new bank for Westeros. Given their high-interest rates and selectivity, it's almost impossible for anyone outside of Nobility to procure a loan from them."

Brandon was momentarily taken aback by Ashara's proposal. Between his numerous projects throughout the North, the new Lord never gave thought to the merits behind creating a bank. However, with his plans involving the new school on Hornwood lands, and his desire to create a Northern version of Myr at Widow's Watch, it was clear to him the value behind such an endeavor. As he was already planning on offering personal loans to the small folk and craftsman who took up his offer, it might be better to mediate the monies through an established bank.

"Your idea might be possible," Brandon stated with a pleased smile. "As it coincides with several plans I am currently working on, if you're willing to take the lead on its creation, I would certainly be willing to finance the start of the bank on your behalf. For the time being, we would have to limit it to the North, but if it proves profitable, I wouldn't oppose the creation of a branch in the South."

For yet another time that day, Ashara's violet eyes widened in surprise to her betrothed's casual acceptance of her proposal. Ever since her dealings with the Iron Bank, the young Dayne spent weeks toiling through her idea of a Westrosi based bank. Unfortunately, the cost behind such a venture would be too high for any but the King or the Lannisters to undertake. Without any way of securing the support of either party, she had all but given up any hope of bringing her plans to fruition.

Nodding her head in agreement, she proudly replied, "Thank you, Brandon. You don't know how much this means to me. I never once imagined I would marry someone who had such faith in me. I promise you that you won't regret this. If you give me a few weeks to put everything in order, I can have a proper proposal for you to review in writing."

"Good, then it's settled. Once you have your proposal ready, we can go through it together and make your dream a reality."

For a moment the pair sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying each others company. When Brandon realized how close they were to Winterfell, he decided to not waste the time they had left. "Do you have any further questions for me, Ashara?," he asked. "I can't promise I will tell you everything you may want to know, but I give you my word that I won't lie to you."

Brandon's offer brought to mind a concern that was plaguing her. While their current meeting had done much to ease any fears she may have about the character of the man she would soon marry, at the end of the day he was still a man and being a native of Dorne she knew well how loose they could be with their fidelity. Especially men as rich, powerful and good looking as the one in front of her. After everything Brandon was willing to do for, she in turn was willing to overlook any of his previous indiscretions, but nonetheless, she wanted to know the truth behind any dalliances he may have had over the years.

The violet-eyed beauty arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow at Brandon and replied. "I do, but I am uncertain how to ask it."

"Whatever it is, I promise you I will do my best to answer your question honestly," Brandon answered with a bemused smile.

"Very well, are there any mistresses or bastards I should be aware of?"

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at the question, but he quickly shook his head in return. "While I admit there have been several women I found to be attractive over the years, you have no need to fear of a bastard, as I have never taken a lover to my bed."

As the favored protege of Princess Deria, the young Dayne took pride in her ability to not only judge a man's character but also to tell if he was lying to her. It was a skill she successfully used countless times with Oberyn growing up and one that she perfected under the guidance of her surrogate mother. Based on the sincerity clearly evident in her future husband's entire being, she had no doubt Brandon was telling her the truth. And yet his answer still baffled her. Having grown up around Oberyn and even Doran to a degree, she had seen how easily a pair of tits and some honeyed words could entice even the noblest of men to stray.

As her probing gaze took in her betrothed's incredibly fit and well-built body, when she looked into his alluring grey eyes, Ashara suddenly had an epiphany in regards to her future husband.

"You're a man-maid," she exclaimed with a playful laugh. "How is that even possible? At the very least I expected you to have experienced a whore or two in your youth. If I hadn't noticed how often your eyes seem to find my chest, I would think you a man queer."

Despite the joy he felt at the sound of Ashara's angelic laugh, Brandon found himself embarrassed by her teasing of his virginity. A fact that was evident by the blush that suddenly appeared across his cheeks.

"Aye, I am," he replied with a snort. "Over the years my projects in the North have taken up the majority of my attention and I've had little to no time to find a lover amongst the women I do find to be attractive. As for bedding a whore, I refuse to put my cock where a thousand cocks have been before."

The moment the words left his mouth, Brandon winced at how crass they had been. Recently he spent so long in Greatjon's company, it was clear he'd forgotten how to properly speak to a Lady. Perhaps it was Xander's memories of powerful women like Buffy, Faith, Willow, and Cordelia or Alex's memories of his strong-willed mother and sister, but unlike many of his peers, the young Lord never viewed women as bedmates and broodmares that could be spoken to however a man should please.

"I'm sorry for my poorly spoken words, Ashara," Brandon apologized. "I shouldn't have..."

"Stop, Brandon," Ashara interrupted with a laugh. "You have no need to apologize to me. I'm not some prissy little flower from the Reach, but a woman from Dorne and soon enough your wife. I assure you there is nothing you could say that I haven't heard before. Besides, where I come from such words are often between lovers."

Despite what his friends may believe, Brandon wasn't a prude. Thanks to his alternate selves, he had countless memories of having sex with beautiful women and since his teenage years, the young Lord longed to enact those memories in his current incarnation. But his inability to act upon his desires stemmed in part from his Stark upbringing, as well as knowing what the results of such a casual encounter could entail. Growing up he'd encountered several bastards of Noble birth and regardless of the status of their parents, the children would always suffer the stigma over their birth. This was a curse he never wanted to bring upon one of his children and so he controlled his urges at every turn.

When she saw her betrothed reluctantly nod his head in agreement, Ashara could tell he was still dismayed by his words. Several times in her youth she heard tales of how honorable the Starks were known to be, but seeing it in person was like a breath of fresh air for the young woman. The sight of Brandon's innocence and naivety to things every Dornish took for granted, aroused Ashara like a powerful aphrodisiac and at that moment the future Lady Stark decided it was time to put her mother's hard-earned lessons to use.

Without pause, she moved from her seat and before her betrothed could say otherwise, her legs spread wide and her knees locked on either side of Brandon's waist, as she straddled him quickly. Once her firm derrière landed roughly on top of his lap, Ashara's lithe arms snaked around his neck for support, bringing her lips mere inches from her partner. The meeting of grey and violet eyes clearly showed the lust and attraction the pair had for one another.

In a world where might makes right, Deria taught her daughters how important it was for them to use every advantage at their disposal. For a woman, there was no greater power than knowing how to use their body to control a man. From the day Elia and Ashara shed their first moons blood, the Princess trained them in the finer points of seduction.

Unlike the rest of Westeros, Dorne was far more worldly when it came to the act of sex. Whereas the rest of the Seven Kingdoms liked to hide their depravity within the confines of their homes and castles, the people of the Desert embraced their sexuality without any fears. Lys may be known for producing the most beautiful whores in the world, but no one could challenge a Dornish man or woman's ability to bring pleasure to their partner.

From the day they were old enough to do so, Ashara and Elia were taught everything they would need to know about sex. Be it a gentle touch, some honeyed words, or the various intricacies involved in the act itself, despite the necessity of keeping their maidenhood intact for their future husbands, the two girls were as knowledgeable about the art of seduction, as any whore that could be found within the Seven Kingdoms.

Always the dutiful student, Ashara took to heart every lesson the Princess had to offer. Though it pained her to think of using her body in such a manner, the young Dayne still possessed vast knowledge about the pleasures of the flesh. However, unknown to her surrogate mother, from a young age Ashara promised herself she would never use these lessons to have a man to do her bidding. The pride she had in her innate intelligence and cunning, refused to be put aside by the actions any common whore could take.

As she felt her large breasts firmly press against Brandon's chest, Ashara was grateful for the lessons she once scorned. For her actions in that moment weren't done to control or influence her betrothed, but to ease the pain of a man she had come to admire. Now more than ever, she wanted to share her passions and desires with a man she was sure she would one day soon love.

Brandon Stark was everything she wanted in a husband. In the brief time she spent with him, Ashara was impressed with his intelligence, enamored with his looks and aroused by his innocence. But as attracted as she was to his naivety, the young Dayne needed her future husband to realize what it means to be married to a woman from Dorne.

In order to realize the love they both hoped to find in one another, Brandon would have to embrace his carnal desires. As much as Ashara valued being wanted for her mind instead of her body, she learned from Deria's poor experiences how crucial both passion and respect needed to be for a marriage to survive. While the future Lady Stark had little doubt of Brandon not respecting her, for their union to be a lasting one, the Dornish beauty needed her husband to be to set aside his insecurities when it comes to sex.

The movement of the carriage inadvertently caused Ashara to rock against Brandon's growing length. The soft moan that escaped his lips, brought a smirk to the young woman's face. Using her knees as support, she swiftly removed her arms from around Brandon's neck and brought them to her large firm breasts.

As she gently began kneading them, Ashara waited until Brandon's eyes found her chest and asked, "Do you like what you see, my Lord?"

At the nod of his head, the young Dayne grabbed Brandon's hands and brought them to her breasts. Though she was larger in size than the majority of women she met in her life, Ashara's tits were soon lost within her future husband's grasp. The mixture of pleasure and pain she felt at his touch, caused her hips to thrust eagerly against his iron hard cock. Though she had yet to see her prize, Ashara was certain his length would easily fulfill her every desire.

When Brandon's lust filled eyes locked onto her own, Ashara leaned forward and whispered into his ear, not caring how bold or crass her word may be, "Good, because now they are yours. To touch. To lick. And to fuck whenever your heart desires. From this day on, you are mine and I am yours. Do you agree?"

Ashara smirked proudly at the feral growl that came from her betrothed. "Than show me how much you want me, Brandon. Make. Me. Yours."

The years Brandon spent building up his iron will was broken mere moments later. Finally giving in to his carnal desire, he leaned forward and captured Ashara's lips in a sudden and intense kiss. While his right hand continued to knead the tit in its grasp, his left hand snaked around Ashara's tiny waist and took a hold of her perfectly shaped derriere. Pulling her body towards him, he crushed her smaller frame tightly against his chest. Within moments the couple became lost to the world. Seconds turned to minutes, but neither was aware of the passing of time.

When the pair finally parted, their chests heaving from the passionate embrace, neither could believe how wonderful the kiss had been. It was beyond anything they could have possibly imagined and both of them yearned for more. Just before their lips could meet again, Brandon and Ashara heard the loud knock echo throughout the carriage. It was then that the couple realized the carriage was no longer in motion.

Before Ashara could even think to call out, the door opened and the pair turned to find a smirking Deria looking back at them. "And here I thought you were simply lost in your dreams, my dear."

"I'm sorry, mother/My apologies, Princess," the couple called out at the same time.

Deria's answering laugh was enough to embarrass them further. "As you are to be man and wife on the morrow, I see no reason for you to apologize. However, I would suggest you part ways for the moment as both your fathers are waiting for you outside."

While Ashara took a moment to make herself presentable, Brandon quickly made his way out of the carriage. As soon as he got out, he saw Oberyn and his paramour looking at him with a knowing smile spread across their lips. When he turned to face his soon to be good father, Brandon had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the man's stern and unapproving expression. After all the effort Deric and his eldest son put into keeping him and Ashara apart at Sunspear, he wasn't worried about upsetting the man with his impromptu visit.

It wasn't until his eyes turned towards Winterfell's massive Ironwood gates did Brandon find what he was looking for. Dressed in the finest of Northern made silk, each member of House Stark looked as if they were ready to attend a Royal ball. Rickard, Ned, Lyanna, and Benjen stood patiently at the entrance, the quartet surrounded on either side by two rows of Wolf Guard that stretched out into the courtyard behind them. Though he couldn't see them now, as per his instructions, he knew the gathered Vassals that came for the wedding could also be found in said courtyard, waiting to greet the new Lady Stark.

Despite his sibling's attempts to contain their obvious merriment, Brandon could easily tell how amused the trio was at his plight. Normally he would have joined them in their levity, but given the number of people around him, the Wolf Lord chose a more formal response. Nodding in acknowledgment towards his father, Brandon turned around found Ashara patiently waiting for his assistance to leave the carriage.

As he guided her down the trifecta of steps, Brandon once again marveled at his betrothed's beauty. The dark purple dress she wore not only highlighted Ashara's mesmerizing violet eyes, but it also hugged her curves in all the right places. The mere sight of her was enough to make women across the Seven Kingdoms green with envy and the Stark Lord couldn't help but be grateful she would soon be his.

The moment she emerged from the carriage, Ashara gasped at the sight of her new home. Based on the rumors she heard and the sights she had already seen, the new Lady Stark was well aware Winterfell wouldn't be the same Castle as her surrogate mother visited in her youth. However, she never imagined it to be so magnificent.

Having visited Harrenhal in her youth, the young Dayne could tell her new home wasn't as expansive as the fortress that could be found in the Riverlands, but the same could not be said of the majestic towers that now loomed in front of her. Totaling five in number, she was certain each one was larger than the Lord's tower at Harrenhal. As her gaze took in the sight of the stone bridges connecting each of the towers together, Ashara couldn't help but admire their ingenious design.

The description of the dark and dreary Castle Deria once provided for the ancient stronghold of the Starks, was soon enough replaced by an enchanting vision Ashara would gladly call her new home. Between its intimidating walls, majestic towers and glistening stones of black and grey as far as her eyes could see, Winterfell was the perfect blend of strength, beauty, and power.

The pride Brandon felt at the sight of Ashara's spellbound expression, was everything he imagined when he first shared his plans with his father so long ago. Now that his dreams had become a reality, he couldn't wait to show his wife the splendor that awaited her. As he guided Ashara towards his waiting family, the Stark Lord leaned down and whispered the words he'd been wanting to say since the day he first laid eyes upon the woman of his dreams.

"Welcome to Winterfell...Lady Stark."

* * *

 **Casting:**

 **Eddard Stark:** Liam Hemsworth(young)

 **Hotto:** Idris Elba

 **Mace Tyrell:** Ray Winstone(young)

 **Olenna Tyrell:** Diana Rigg

 **Tywin Lannister:** Jeremy Irons

 **Kevan Lannister:** Tony Curran

 **Ashara Dayne:** Georgia Salpa

 **Princess Deria Martell:** Catherine Zeta Jones

 **Brandon Stark:** Chris Hemsworth


End file.
